


All Angles

by csaber



Series: The Long Shot [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mass Effect 1, One Shot Collection, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csaber/pseuds/csaber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One crew racing against time. A collection of interconnected one-shots featuring Commander Victor Shepard, his crew, and more, focusing on character interactions and arcs throughout the events of Mass Effect 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jeff Moreau - First Impressions

A flash of white and a burst of rapid fire. Jenkins' armor cam went to static.

On another haptic window, the gray-armored body hit the dirt. The view jerked right. Rock cover poked at its corner as slugs slammed the ground ahead. The fire ceased. The view darted around the rock. A mass effect field stopped the drone mid-flight, then two shots left a rain of burning scraps. The view turned to the other remaining marine, and the two emerged from cover into a still clearing, tinged red in Eden Prime's sunset.

Joker let out the breath he'd been holding, and he was sure other crewmen did, too. Losing the whole ground team in the first firefight wouldn't have boded well for the SSV _Normandy_ 's shakedown run.

"Hardsuit data received and verified," Ensign Hasan said. "Corporal Jenkins is dead."

First the transmission came: panicked marines overwhelmed by an unknown enemy, with some massive ship wreathed in red lightning looming in the clouds. And then the debriefing: a Prothean beacon awaited pickup, but of course big discoveries drew bigger complications like a magnet. And then drones swooped down and ripped through Richard Jenkins. All that took the crew from lively but suspicious chatter to silence punctuated only by status reports in tight voices.

"Grenado." Captain Anderson's voice carried an experienced officer's calm and confidence in droves. "Bring up a still of that drone from Alenko's armor cam. I need to know what we're up against."

After dropping the ground team, Joker had bothered to look over his shoulder a few times. Anderson roamed up and down the bridge between orders, checking on individual crew members. He didn't hand-pick an untested crew, but Joker supposed the gesture was welcome.

Funny how Anderson's presence went from confusing to reassuring—for most of the crew, anyways. Even if the Systems Alliance brass was expecting trouble, this mission had too much star power: the turian Spectre, the _other_ N7.

"I checked Citadel databases," Ensign Grenado said from the sensor station behind him. "The drone roughly resembles geth designs from three hundred years ago."

_Wonderful,_ Joker thought.

That other N7, from Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko's feed, was taking cover at the top of a slope while two flashlight-headed bipeds impaled a man on a huge spike. Commander Shepard took aim with his sniper rifle. The shot took one in the head. Distracted, the other went down to a third marine: Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, whom Joker recognized from the transmission.

Footsteps from behind while Williams took point. "Thoughts, Flight Lieutenant?" Anderson asked.

Joker's eyes widened. "Wait, you want _my_ opinion, sir?"

"I asked for it."

_Yep, still sounds angry when he's talking to me._ Joker looked back to the haptic windows, where Kaidan lobbed a tech grenade into a cluster of geth. Williams let loose with her rifle from the side of Kaidan's feed. Blue lightning and rapid fire shredded the enemy.

Joker shrugged. "Model officers?"

"I meant the mission, the state of the crew."

Common navy knowledge held that helmsmen had the bird's-eye view on the bridge. One of the few conventions Joker stuck to, and in fact he prided himself on it. Years of observing the able-bodied on Arcturus Station had amounted to sharp people-watching skills. "Well the weird levels definitely escalated quickly. I mean, we all knew something was up with this shakedown run, but I don't think any of us expected AI bogeymen."

"This isn't what anybody signed up for, I know. But there's a reason I picked the best in the Alliance."

_Hey, that's a compliment_. Even if it was an angry one. "Speaking of the best…"

The slightly grainy image of Commander Shepard prowled about the empty dig site like a hunter or an archaeologist. The red stripe on his arm turned in and out of view. Shepard said less than ten words to him on the way to Eden Prime, and all them carried a sharpness of someone who liked getting past the bullshit right to the point.

Joker gestured to the window and looked at Anderson with a quirked eyebrow. "Did you find him in a vid or something?"

Anderson gazed at the feeds. "He does have an impressive record."

For the first time, Joker looked at the view from Shepard's armor cam. Several shots of his pistol took down a space zombie, of all things, mid-charge.

"You can probably see more of it than I can, sir."

"You haven't looked at it?"

  _The Hero of Elysium and who knows what else._ Personnel files—x commendations over y years of service, nth place in some class—almost never matched reality, even in Joker's own case. But he could see Shepard's cool ownership of a Star of Terra from his stance, from that handful of words.

"Don't need to. He kinda screams 'first in everything.' Hence the question."

But then the geth ship from the transmission, gargantuan in size and monstrous in shape, rose into the clouds. Sensors picked it up as it raced away from Eden Prime at overwhelming speeds. Joker looked back at Shepard's feed. _Well, better fight one impossibility with another, right?_

 

The beacon explosion had thrown Shepard far and left him a limp heap on the floor—not unlike the last visual of Jenkins or Nihlus. The IES heat sink dump kept Joker from going down to the crew deck to confirm, so in the meantime he heard only scuttlebutt from more mobile crew members.

The first thing he learned about scuttlebutt? Good for laughs, but not much else.

He just about added Commander Shepard to the fatality count when Ashley Williams came up to correct him. "Huh," Joker said after she finished. "And he's actually fine?"

"Doctor Chakwas says so." Williams stole glances around the bridge in true FNG fashion, but Joker thought her a decent addition to the crew. The last marine of the Eden Prime garrison had outlived not only Jenkins, but also Nihlus. "Shepard said he felt like 'the morning after shore leave.'"

"So either he was better off than we thought or his shore leaves are completely crazy." Joker wasn't sure which was worse: an icy XO or an icy XO with a secret wild side. He didn't need the mental image of Shepard dancing on a table.

Another voice chimed in. "I'll leave that to your imagination."

Joker blinked. All the beeps, hums, and chatter of the command deck shouldn't have drowned out footsteps, especially when they were right behind him. Yet somehow he missed Commander Shepard's approach. He shook the surprise off and grinned. "Imaginations are dangerous, sir. You start with vague rumors about crazy shore leaves…"

Shepard folded his arms across his chest. A long scar ran down one of them, elbow to wrist, while another poked from a corner of a blue eye into his buzz-cut black hair. "And you end with a story about me pretending to be on shore leave so I could infiltrate a terrorist cell and take out its leader."

"Wow. Where'd that one come from?"

"I heard it from an old CO. Sometimes people think I'm a spy, not a marine." Shepard stepped forward, just behind Joker's chair.  "The captain sent me to check in on you. How far are we from the Citadel?"

Joker turned around and stared at the streaky blue mess beyond the forward viewport. "Just about to drop out of FTL, sir. Then it's one relay jump and we're there. You can stick around if you want, play tourist at the bright center of galactic civilization."

"Sounds like you know the place," Williams said.

"I've been there a few times. The fun places, not the fancy ones."

Shepard shrugged. "'Fun' and 'fancy' aren't mutually exclusive."

_Somehow crazy shore leaves are sounding more and more likely._ And so was a "yes" answer to his vid question.

Joker decelerated the _Normandy_ to sublight speeds, rushing towards the shining core of the mass relay. A routine jump brought them from the speckled blackness of space to the purple-white misty shroud of the Serpent Nebula—and with it the Citadel and all its… glory, if one was into the sightseeing. Williams certainly was. More footsteps and more voices as Alenko and Anderson entered. Talk ensued of the sheer size of the station, of the _Destiny Ascension_ that guarded it. Joker chipped in a few words, more focused on getting docking clearance.

He wasn't one to be awed, but he did appreciate the Citadel's scale—its sheer size, and all the species thrown together on its ring and arms. Aboard the star of the human fleet with two N7 legends, maybe the best pilot in the Alliance wasn't so out-of-place.


	2. Ashley Williams - Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the assault on Chora's Den, Ashley finds two surprises.

Not too long ago was she on Eden Prime, fighting for her life.

Now the skycar zipped through traffic between skyscrapers, silvery blurs outside the window that cast rapidly shifting shadows on the inside. On her white hardsuit, which sported a few upgrades. On LT Alenko in the driver's seat, collected as ever. And on the krogan and turian, both armored and armed, sharing the car with them.

Well, they were a different kind of alien from the geth. The clean Citadel cityscape was a much needed change from the burning, corpse-littered wreckage on Eden Prime. All that plus her first shipboard posting, and Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams had no reason to complain.

"So," she said, "we're just going to charge in through the front door and draw their fire?"

"Two humans, one turian, and one krogan. It's a good, eye-catching diversion," Officer Vakarian said. The turian Councilor seemed the most willing to deny the charges pressed at the star Spectre. That another turian was investigating Saren was more than a little surprising. "Admittedly, I'm not used to playing the bait, but I have a good feeling about this plan."

Ash nodded and looked over at the krogan in the front passenger seat. "Just one question, Wrex. Why didn't you use this secret exit when you were at Chora's Den?"

Urdnot Wrex chortled. "You think Shepard was the first one to come up with the front door bait? The Shadow Broker had an assassin at the other end of the escape tunnel. I was supposed to get Fist scared enough to use it."

"What happened to the assassin?" Alenko asked.

"Never called. The keepers've probably cleaned up his pieces."

"That's… grim."

"You don't know Fist," Vakarian said. "He might be a stupid coward, but he's also a vicious coward."

Ash frowned. "Is the Commander walking into a trap?"

"Maybe," Wrex said with a shrug. "If he is, we'll see if he can handle it."

_This guy is supposed to be helping us_. Ash glanced out the window. Mercenaries liked their money, so Wrex could be counted on to take down Fist. But beyond that— _if_ there was a "beyond that"—not much else. Shepard welcomed him into the mission with the cool professionalism of a simple handshake. Maybe he sensed that, too.

The skycar dove into a tunnel, and the blurred Wards cityscape became darkness lined with red and dotted with blue. The inertia of deceleration pushed her forward in her seat. Beyond the front window, a glowing outline of a dancing asari illuminated the door and platform below.

"Huh," Alenko said as he landed the vehicle. "No guards out front."

The car unfolded open. Vakarian stepped out first, taking the sniper rifle off his back. "Like I said, Fist's a stupid coward. He'd rather keep all his men inside than risk them here."

Ash followed suit. Her assault rifle felt a little different in her hands, but x-mods or no, it was the same one that was ripping through the geth and their husks on Eden Prime. "Lucky us."

Alenko gestured to the front door of Chora's Den. Ash took up the left with him, Wrex on the right, while Vakarian knelt in front and started working on the lock. _He's calm for a detective about to charge into a shootout._ Then she remembered: no such thing as a turian civilian. Her grandfather learned that one the hard way.

Vakarian stood and retreated to Wrex's side. The red door control by Ash's arm blinked into green.

"Shepard's in position." Alenko dismissed his omni-tool and readied his pistol. "Go."

Ash glanced at the LT and the aliens. No Bhatia or Vilenchik or Smith or all the others, but at least she knew this fight was coming. She hit the controls.

A hail of fire greeted them. At the slightest break, Ash hurled a grenade and rushed in at the sound of its explosion. She kicked a table down and ducked. About twelve thugs. Pistols and rifles, no actual hardsuits.

Ash shot one behind the bar. Rolled and took cover there. Three more trigger pulls, three more dead bad guys. Two shots grazed the bar just by her shoulder. She checked the radar, then the top of the bar fixture. "Hostile overhead," she said into comms.

Vakarian replied. _"On it."_

Several thugs were clustered behind a table and in the hallway next to it. Ash threw another grenade. A sniper shot sounded with the "boom." The shooter she called out crumpled and dropped to the floor.

A figure sprang into the corner of her sight. The point of a knife. Ash sidestepped the stab, smashed the butt of her rifle into the man's face. A second of automatic fire was her goodbye.

A roar from her right: Wrex, shields flaring under fire, blasted a thug's guts out. Bashed a second aside with that shotgun. Threw a third into a wall.

Ash gunned down the last thugs in her sights and looked around the area. "All clear." Twelve corpses and a hodgepodge of a squad standing victorious. She took a deep breath, checking her rifle. This went much better than the last one.

"Door's resealed," Alenko said. "Rendezvous with Shepard in Fist's office."

"Heh." Wrex brandished his shotgun. "Hope we get there first. I've been wanting to get my hands on him."

Ash wasn't keen on seeing the krogan idea of "get my hands on him," but they had a mission. "Then let's get going. You two have fun."

Alenko and Vakarian turned towards the front door, while Ash and Wrex made for the hallway. The garish red lights on the high dome gave way to dim white and a lower ceiling. She thought she felt Wrex's eyes on her, but when she looked back Wrex had them elsewhere.

An unlocked door stood at the end. And beyond were two more thugs, pistols pointed but trembling. They dared to take a shot each.

Her shields rippled, but not much else.

"Stay back," one said. "Th-those were warning shots."

Wrex approached. They lowered their guns, expressions screaming "grown men wetting themselves."

Ash stepped forward to stop Wrex from eviscerating them. "Hey, you don't need—"

He slammed his knee into one thug's ribs and punched the other in the face. The two dropped. His shotgun stayed put.

Wrex met her stunned stare with a glance and a shrug. "They weren't worth killing." He moved for the next door. "At least the other guys fought."

On the floor, one of the thugs only had a cut on his face. Both of them were still breathing. Ash blinked away her surprise. "Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

"You haven't met many krogan."

_You got me there._ She followed him into the next room—Fist's office. A large lump by the opposite wall: the krogan bouncer who confronted Wrex lay in a puddle of green blood, throat slit.

"I was wondering where he was," Wrex said.

"Sorry. I know you wanted to get your hands on him." In front of a long desk, Shepard held a large kneeling man at gunpoint. Slug marks from automatic fire dotted a black line on one wall, but the automatic turrets were now pointed at Fist.

"You okay, Commander?" Ash asked, lowering her rifle.

"Yeah. A few automated defenses, but Fist kept stock encryption on their control programs."

Wrex grinned at her. "Guess he handled the trap."

Shepard didn't earn his Star of Terra for nothing, she supposed.

"Now," Shepard said, eyes still on Fist, "the quarian. Tell me where she is."

"I don't—I don't _know_. I told you that. She wanted to meet with the Shadow Broker, but—"

He brandished his omni-tool. "I turned your turrets on you with a quick hack. It'll be even easier to make them shoot you. Do you want that?"

Commander Shepard had welcomed her aboard the _Normandy_ with compliments and a faint smile. Almost another person, icy and ruthless, was interrogating the crime boss. She glanced aside at Wrex's deep chuckle.

Meanwhile, Fist cringed. "No. No, please don't, all right. I told her I set up a meeting with the Shadow Broker, but my men are gonna kill her the moment she gets there. Stupid girl thought people actually met the Broker face to f—"

"Where." Shepard kept his voice low and even, but had the same effect as a DI's bark.

"Two levels down from here! Side alley between 109C and Ardat Blaze. They're supposed to meet in ten minutes. That's the truth, I swear." Fist tilted his head up. "Now can I go?"

Wrex took a step forward.

Shepard shook his head at Wrex, then looked back down at the crime boss. He pulled the trigger. Fist crumpled to the floor.

"Bah." Wrex lowered his shotgun. "That's two kills you've taken from me."

"If this goes well, we'll be going after Saren. He'd put up a better fight than either of them."

Wrex let out a ponderous rumble. "I like the sound of that."

_Great_ , Ash thought, _he's with us for the long run._ Yet the idea didn't seem as bad as it did on the skycar ride. _"They weren't worth worth killing."_

Shepard's omni-tool faded in. _"Alenko to Shepard. Enemy reinforcements are at the front door."_

"How long before they get through?"

_"With the encryption Vakarian put in, two minutes max."_

Shepard nodded, stepping behind Fist's console. "Get to the office now. We'll exit through the escape tunnel."

A wall panel slid to the side and revealed a dark corridor. Alenko and Vakarian arrived in moments. Ashley Williams looked at Fist's corpse, then at the unconscious thugs in the other room, before following the commander into the pitch-black.


	3. Jeff Moreau - Last Laughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A swapping of stories, with an emphasis on the uninspiring.

Bad guys were shot, innocent people were saved, and grandiose speeches were given. Thus the first human Spectre flew off to chase the rogue he replaced, not to mention those ancient evil god-machines a Prothean vision burned into his brain. _Well,_ Joker supposed, _better fantasy action/adventure than inspiring crippled kid award-bait._

"Joker."

He blinked and glanced over his shoulder. _You say you aren't a spy, but if you wanted to you could sneak up and snap my neck._ Not that he _wanted_ that. "Hey Commander. Send in the recommendations for that medal yet?"

"Do you have a razor?"

"All right, all right." Joker glanced at his instruments. "We're still on course for the Citadel, if that's what you're here for. Fuel levels are fine, but a resupply will leave us in a good spot for the Attican Beta cluster and any stray kittens we find along the way. And after that dip into Sharjilla's atmosphere, a little maintenance wouldn't hurt."

"Noted, but I'm not here for a status report."

"What, more icebreakers? Thought my whole 'you want me on your ship' speech was enough background for you." _"I am the best damn helmsman in the Alliance fleet,"_ he said, and to his relief Shepard had no objections.

"Call it extra curiosity. I can't imagine it was easy going from flight school to the _Normandy_ _'s_ helm."

 _Because of my condition,_ he first thought. _"You're a great pilot despite your brittle bones,"_ they'd say, never just _"You're a great pilot."_ He looked at the forward viewport, then at Shepard. "Well, it shouldn't be easy period to get here, right? Captain Anderson didn't just eeny-meeny-miny-mo down a list of names."

"True enough."

Shepard pulled off the not-patronizing voice well enough, and the new CO's good graces were a nice goal. Joker sat back. "All right, then, story time. Even though I was at the top of my class, beat all the instructors, they still wouldn't let me fly after graduation. Hearing that you probably think I had to prove myself with some heroic emergency flying."

"Commander, Flight Lieutenant." Junior Helmsman Pakti stood at attention by the helm's entrance. "Here to relieve you, sir."

"Dinner time." Joker lifted himself out of his chair, collected his crutches, and started down the bridge. "Wanna join me, Commander?"

"Sure."

Pressly gave them a curt nod as they passed by. The contrast must've looked hilarious, with Joker hobbling along while Shepard, standing straight and tall, matched his pace.

"All right," Joker said, working his imagination…

It was the usual story, of course. The ignorance of the Alliance brass reared its ugly head when they saw the _Normandy_ hijacked, but to their amazement, the ship made a flawless run through the Arcturus asteroid field. Captain Anderson still didn't believe his eyes. The arrest order was on the tip of his tongue when his turian diplomat guest threatened Alliance-Hierarchy relations.

So what came out of Anderson's mouth instead?"Oh we were fools to ignore your virtuoso piloting and drive you to Grand Theft Spaceship to prove your skills, please pilot the _Normandy_ for me." Only a legendary officer's dignity kept him from falling to his knees. "Nobody else is better qualified."

Joker added a few details here and there, an embellishment or so to make it last the walk to the crew deck. In the end it had the effect he wanted. Others had gathered around the mess hall table, some of them watching Joker with expressions ranging from amused to not so much.

"Really," Garrus said, dextro ration bar in hand, "a turian? The Hierarchy wouldn't send someone like that to the Alliance. Their diplomat would be screaming for your court martial the loudest."

"Were you saving that story, or did you come up with it on the spot?" Shepard asked.

Joker took a sip of water. "Bit of both." He used some variation whenever someone asked him how he landed in a pilot's seat. If they believed he needed to do something so stupid to prove himself, then they were someone to avoid.

"So what actually happened?" Tali, one of the new additions to the crew, seemed to be scrutinizing her dextro bar.

"It's not as exciting as Grand Theft Spaceship…"

 

The _Normandy_ made the SSV _Austerlitz_ look like a museum antique, but a Joker fresh out of flight school thought the frigate the first highlight of his career. At least, it would've been if he wasn't just its shuttle pilot. And on a ship assigned to mere escort duty, he didn't even get to fly that a lot.

So he bid his time, relying on the strength of four facts. One, Captain Devya Sandhu hated lateness. Two, Flight Lieutenant Shane Regalia loved biotiball holo-cards. Three, Regalia was a lightweight, and four (a detail not shared), his personal passwords sucked.

A bit of research and a few trades later, Joker took a seat next to Regalia at a Citadel bar.

"You have the card?" the taller man asked.

Joker held it up, a small, thin datapad with some asari on it. "Right here. The last one you need to finish that collection?"

"Yeah. The only reason I agreed to this on the last day of shore leave. I've been working on that folder for years."

The outright greed in Regalia's eyes made Joker grin. "All right." He called over the bartender. "Shot of your cheapest vodka."

The next day, Sandhu's bestial roars could be heard throughout the _Austerlitz_ _'s_ entire crew deck. In between bursts of "how dare you miss this meeting" and other classic lines came softer "I didn't get any messages" from Regalia. While other crewmen stared bewildered in the direction of the captain's office, Joker wolfed down his breakfast with a smile.

Soon enough the good captain stomped into the mess hall, swung her gaze back and forth, then approached him. "Congratulations, Moreau. Regalia graciously volunteered to take your place as shuttle pilot. I've already promoted Flight Lieutenant Park. That makes you the new junior helmsman."

 

"And there you have it." Joker gave Shepard a nostalgic grin. "My not-inspirational story, the real one."

The gathered crew members made comments here and there, mostly along the lines of "remind me to never go drinking with you," but Joker was more interested in getting something out of this.

"Now it's your turn, sir. One uninspiring story."

"All right." Shepard looked forward, thoughtful. _You have more than one?_ Joker thought.

After a moment the Commander put his hands on the table and leaned forward.

 

It was hard to imagine the Hero of Elysium as a kid, but he _was_ one once, a shorter and skinnier Shepard with less wrinkles and more hair. In Shepard's words, civil war hit New York City hard, but while Manhattan recovered and became more spectacular than ever, Brooklyn didn't. The whole borough was a maze of run-down buildings, a refuge for gangs like the Reds.

Like any large gang, the Reds were split up into sets. That shorter and skinnier Shepard belonged to the Tenth Street Reds, led by a guy called the Old Man. He wasn't _old_ , but he had enough years on the rest that it stuck. When the Old Man got arrested, a Nick Ortiz took over. Rivalries within the Reds rose and fell, and the entire gang both fractured and reunited. And when the dust settled, Ortiz and his own stood atop the debris. And that was just the beginning.

Manhattan's glimmering skyscrapers threw an endless array of colors into the night sky. There must've been celebrities and businessmen mingling in every penthouse apartment, just like in the books.

"Vic."

Victor—"Shepard" wasn't a thing in those days—peeled his gaze away. Back in Brooklyn, he could only see the skyline from across the water. Now it towered over him, over the stacks of shipping containers and the shadows they cast in between. "You done playing tourist?" Cole asked. "We got a job."

 _"Meet the guy, take the weapons, take him out,"_ Ortiz had told them. While the rich and famous partied up above, the Reds were grabbing weapons down below. _Just the beginning._ Victor tapped the pistol in his pocket, then nodded.

Cole and Meira scampered off towards the water. Victor stepped into the shadows between the stacks. When he reached his assigned position, he peeked around a corner to find a hooded man standing by several small containers, his back to him. The other two approached the man from the front.

"Didn't realize I'd be dealing with a few kids."

Meira held her hand out. "Give 'em here."

The man scooped up the first container. "Do your parents know you're up this late?"

"Does your mouth like having all your teeth?" Cole asked.

"Huh. Orphans, then." The man took a step towards them. "I'll ask something else. How would they feel if they knew you were playing gang at midnight?"

"Doesn't matter if they're dead," Cole said.

"Fine." The dealer undid the latches on the case. "Check them out. They're the real deal."

Cole nodded at Meira, who reached into the case and pulled out a large rifle. She grinned, holding it like they did in the old vids, before giving it an actual inspection. "Looks good." With that she started taking a step backwards—

Before her back foot touched the ground the man threw the case at her. She yelped, tumbling onto her back. The rifle flew out of her hands. Cole whipped out his pistol and fired. "Vic!" Blue flared between him and the man. Victor held still.

As if routine, the man landed a blow to Cole's head. He crumpled against a crate. Meira began to stir only to be kicked onto her belly. The man jerked her wrists behind her back and slapped orange glowing handcuffs on them.

"Don't even try," he said. "NYPD. You two are under arrest."

Victor crept in the opposite direction from the police officer and his two new captives. When the last crate was behind him he broke into a sprint towards those skyscrapers.

Only Ortiz and his gun awaited him in Brooklyn, but April 11 came a week after the failed deal. A shorter and skinnier version of Commander Shepard who had passed by one too many posters stepped into the recruiter's office.

 

Shepard took a sip of water. "Now here I am, soldier and Spectre."

"Wow," Private Fredericks said from across the table. Even more crew members had gathered around to hear the story of how Commander Shepard joined the Alliance military, and at the end they all looked enraptured with the telling.

Joker chuckled. "I hear awe in that 'wow.' Thought we were telling uninspiring stories."

"I didn't think fleeing into the arms of the Alliance was so amazing." Shepard took a look around the table, finished his drink, and stood. "As you were."

The small crowd split up as he passed with his empty tray and cup, then apart when he stepped into his cabin. Joker's ears picked up various bits of chatter, some about the stories shared, others on irrelevant topics. He glanced at the captain's door, then picked up his fork and poked at his half-finished dinner, both satisfied and unsatisfied.

But when he thought how Shepard described the Manhattan skyline, then how he just fell into the Alliance military, Joker found himself more the former than the latter.


	4. Kaidan Alenko - One Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan and Liara touch the tip of an iceberg while resolving Dr. Michel’s blackmail problems.

This was a spy's line of work, but Shepard would've approved.

Kaidan Alenko browsed through kiosk after kiosk, but every few seconds he cast his gaze to the other end of the crowded market. Though trying her best to collect herself, Doctor Michel took careful, deliberate steps and flicked her eyes left and right. Sometimes she fidgeted with the large package in her hands. Close by was Liara T'Soni, whose own window shopping drew the attention of a volus shopkeeper.

 _Both of them are out of their element_ , he thought. Safer than being cornered by thugs or trapped in a Prothean ruin, but uncomfortable nonetheless. Kaidan and Liara decided, however, that it was better to trace the blackmail to its source than chase a mere middleman off. _"Help the doctor as much you can,"_ Shepard said. Orders were orders.

Michel stopped at a salarian's shop. After a few seconds, probably a short conversation, she turned and left the way she came. The salarian took the parcel on the counter and tucked it away.

Kaidan opened his omni-tool and sent Michel a message. _"It'll be all right."_ In the distance he spied her receiving it just before she exited the market. _Now to wait._

Shepard always took the side routes, the paths of least resistance, and his efforts rewarded him with surprisingly effective vantage points. Up and away to land a sniper headshot on a merc captain's head, up close and personal to stab an omni-blade into their heart, or less violent parallels. _This is your influence._

Crime investigations were new to him, but life-or-death situations, geth, crewing on a military vessel… Kaidan admired Liara's quick adjustment to a new life, on top of bearing the mistrust some of the crew leveled at her. Matriarch Benezia was a can of worms better left untouched until the time came.

Liara moved to another kiosk. Kaidan mirrored her. The next list of wares skirted the boundaries of the law, he guessed, but nothing that C-Sec could crack down on. Meanwhile, the salarian's shop remained unpatronized.

"You don't look like the sort for this stuff," a human shopkeeper said.

_I'm out of my element, too._

Something bumped into his back. Kaidan looked right. A krogan, dressed in civvies, stalked down the aisle of kiosks down to the salarian's shop. When Michel's package emerged from under the counter, Kaidan gave Liara a slight nod. "Guess not," he said to the shopkeeper, then made his way towards the new arrival.

"She gave you no trouble?" The krogan's black crest bore no scars. Younger than Wrex, Kaidan surmised, and with a fraction of his combat experience at best.

"No," the salarian said. "Just dropped it off, told me to get it to you, then left."

"Good. Gonna take this to Banes. Pleasure doing business."

Kaidan looked at a kiosk, avoiding the krogan's gaze as he walked off. Liara approached his side. "Let's go?"

The krogan passed through a door. "Yeah," Kaidan said.

The cramped market gave way to the high ceiling and open space of a Citadel Ward. While the krogan pushed and shoved through foot traffic, Kaidan and Liara matched the pace of the crowd. A black-covered hump made for easy following in a sea of color.

"Does the Commander typically assign tasks involving blackmail?" Liara asked.

"I think they're more 'favors' than 'tasks.' Doctor Michel helped us get the evidence we needed to implicate Saren. The Consort has a Prothean artifact that might come in handy."

"And the Commander's personal problem? Is that a favor?"

"That, I'm not sure on." Shepard was unusually vague when he mentioned a message from an "old friend"—and not the good kind, from that downward turn in his voice.

Across a bridge and down a level, the krogan finally turned away from the crowds and into an alley. Kaidan stepped up to its corner and peeked around. The krogan entered a building.

"It looks like a warehouse," Liara said.

Kaidan nodded. "There might be another entrance."

They found another door on the far side. Kaidan checked for security systems and found only a standard lock, easily cracked. When the door slid open he unclipped his pistol. "Be ready for anything."

"I never look forward to confronting krogan."

The warehouse interior's dim lighting offered only vague hints of the numerous crates inside. Kaidan crept around as best as his hardsuit would allow. _Isn't this C-Sec's job,_ he wondered. Maybe he should've left this one to Garrus, but the turian was on his own assignment on a different Ward. The blackmailer's delivery time didn't allow the luxury of waiting for him.

Echoes of voices and a single bright light cast on the walls. Kaidan pressed himself against a crate. Liara took his side.

Past its corner, the krogan middleman stood before a human silhouette and a handful of LOKI mechs. Michel's package lay on the floor between them.

"You're sure you weren't followed?" the human asked, voice gravelly.

"I told you already, Banes. I wasn't."

The human crossed his arms. "I highly doubt that. Shortly after dropping off the medical supplies, Doctor Michel received a message via omni-tool. It said 'It'll be all right.'"

Kaidan frowned. _Dammit._

"She had spoken to someone about the situation," Banes said, "Probably C-Sec."

 _Now or never._ Kaidan signaled on the count of three to Liara.

"Bah," the krogan said, "I can handle an offic—"

"We're not C-Sec." Kaidan rolled into the open, pistol aimed in one hand and the other free for mnemonics. Liara followed. "The doctor just has friends in high places."

"Tough talk." The krogan chuckled, taking a pistol from up his sleeve. "High places, eh? What, you have a sniper somewhere hidden in the ceiling?"

Banes waved dismissively at him, then took a step back. "Ah. Would-be do-gooders. Galtokk, bring me these two heads and I'll double your pay. Mechs, open fire."

Kaidan brought up a barrier on instinct and dove for cover as the LOKI mechs brought their submachine guns to bear. The crate shuddered and splintered under their fire, but it was the pounding footsteps of a krogan charge that worried him more. Dark energy swirled down his free hand.

He rolled away from a loud crash and flung a biotic field. The smashed crate—and Galtokk with it—rose into the air. Kaidan shot until his pistol was on the edge of overheating.

As Kaidan let gravity reassert itself on the krogan corpse, the mechs' rapid fire stopped. Liara was ablaze in a biotic corona, and the six LOKI mechs flailed around a pulsing blue singularity. She lowered herself into what looked like a combat stance, then hurled a warp field.

Biotic field met biotic field in a rippling explosion. Kaidan had to duck as a mech leg came flying his way.

The vibrations in the air faded while Liara walked towards the spot of the criminal gathering. In the midst of LOKI parts, a crate had crushed Banes beneath. "That," she said, "wasn't so terrible." She knelt and picked up a smashed package. "A shame about the doctor's supplies."

"I think she'll be fine," Kaidan said. The dead krogan lay a few meters away, with a mech's head and torso sitting by his side. A keeper came skittering out of the darkness towards the heap. "Though it might help to set aside some credits for her. Just in case."

 

A trivial fight made for clean hardsuits, and clean hardsuits made for no questions asked. Even if he could invoke Shepard's Spectre authority, Kaidan was glad to keep the C-Sec officers at a distance.

They'd just arrived at the skycar lot when Liara closed Michel's package. "Some of this was expensive equipment. I feel guilty using biotics so recklessly in the warehouse."

"How much does it amount to?"

"Let's see…" Liara opened her omni-tool and ran the numbers. "Ten thousand Citadel Standard credits."

"The salvage from the merc base on Sharjila should come in handy. When Shepard checks in, I'll ask if we can use some of the funds from it." He just hoped that Michel's bank accounts weren't being monitored like her messages. Banes and Galtokk were dead, but Kaidan shouldn't shake the gut feeling that this wasn't over.

At Space B29, Kaidan tapped his omni-tool to a console. Their rented shuttle unfolded open. "Those were some impressive biotics, by the way. Where'd you train them?"

"Train?" Liara stepped into the passenger seat. "I suppose it was training. My mother…" Her gaze flicked downward. "The daughter of a prominent matriarch can be a target for her enemies. And Prothean dig sites can be hotspots for pirates. I had to attend many, many lessons over the decades."

What BAaT was to him, self-defense lessons were to her. Amusement, not resentment, sparked at the difference. The face of a turian came to mind: sneering one moment, blank the next. "Decades," he said. "Sometimes I forget they aren't that big a deal for you as they are for us."

"I admit to some uncertainty when we encountered that asari pirate. A few years of training seem so insignificant."

The skycar's autopilot kicked in and took it into the traffic lanes outside. Kaidan tried picturing decades of instruction from a serene asari matriarch, a warmly lit classroom with cushions on the floor. The asari stereotype, he knew, but he smiled faintly at the image. "It's all we get."

A ping from his radio. _"Shepard here. How's Doctor Michel?"_

"She's all right," Kaidan said. "She was being blackmailed, but we took care of the people responsible. I'd like to reimburse her for some… property damage."

_"Send me the amount of credits, and I'll make the transfer. You'll have to debrief me on what happened. Sounds like a story."_

"Is everything okay?" Liara asked.

A brief silence before Shepard replied. _"Yeah. The old friend I mentioned won't be a problem anymore." Permanently_ was the unspoken last word. _"I still have that business with the Consort, but you have the rest of the day. Shepard out."_

Kaidan glanced at Liara. "Well, it's clear what kind of old friend he was talking about," he said.

"Not the good kind. I suppose Shepard would have a long list of enemies. With Saren at the top… and Benezia." She stared ahead, eyes more thoughtful than sad.

"I'm sorry. Must be hard, knowing she's involved."

"I don't understand why, but we'll run into her eventually. Hopefully I'll get answers then."

 _When we run into her, we might have to fight her. Kill her, even._ There was uncertainty in her voice—who wasn't uncertain about the whole mission—but not fear. Maybe that was the distance Liara had kept from her mother showing itself. Maybe Liara was a little more than barely an adult.

Pursuing the blackmailer took both of them out of their element. Though Citadel crime wasn't on nearly the same level as a rogue Spectre, his army of geth, and the race of mechanical gods behind them, but maybe they were readier to deal than he first suspected.


	5. Victor Shepard - Other Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One call leads to two reunions and a too-familiar situation for Commander Shepard.

"Speaking of which, about that whole 'leaving us at the mercies of plant zombies…'"

"You were not at the mercies of plant zombies. There was a thick layer of ablative armor and hull between you and the mercies of plant zombies."

"Hey, you fought a giant tentacle plant thing that spat out asari clones—you know, something you'd expect to find on the extranet. Plus, we're hunting a rogue Spectre who wants to bring back ancient god-machines. Plant zombies with super strength is not a stretch."

Joker's comment drew glances from the servicemen around the mess hall. Victor Shepard tossed them a shrug, then turned back to Joker. "I didn't think you were into that kind of entertainment."

Shepard mustered a grin, fighting through a headache and waiting for the meds to kick in. On Nodacrux, as Thorian creepers barreled down the hallways of the ExoGeni research station, adrenaline had brought his senses into sharp focus. But the pain reasserted itself in the quiet moments on the _Normandy_. Worst when he woke up from red-tinged, violent flashes of the Prothean extinction, with hammering echoes through the rest of the day. This one, he supposed, was a minor one.

He knew—or he thought he knew—that his brain was just adjusting to the Cipher. If pain meant progress, then he'd suffer it and hope it led them to Saren and the Conduit.

"Hey, two words," Joker said, "extranet osmosis."

God-machines and their cycles of extinction… Even with the beacon vision and the Cipher, maybe Shepard liked bringing out Joker's honest, incredulous remarks on the whole situation.

"Oh." Ashley took a seat next to him and set her tray down. "'Extranet osmosis,' is that what they call it?"

"Osmosis is the movement of water across a semipermeable membrane," Liara said, "not… oh."

Ashley smirked. "See? Osmosis is _wet._ Basic science, Joker." That drew a few chuckles.

"Since we're listing the immutable facts of the universe now, how 'bout 'Gunnery Chief Ashley Madeline Williams is evil?'"

"Guilty. I'll take 'evil' over 'exotic extranet hobbies' any day."

"It's great to see my crew bonding with each other," Shepard said over his glass of water.

Liara looked from Joker to Ashley to Shepard, bewildered. "This is… bonding?"

"Yep," Ashley said, grinning. "Saren beware."

A ping, then the voice of the _Normandy_ VI cut over theirs. _"Incoming transmission for Commander Shepard from Rear Admiral Anna Whitwell,_ SSV Munich _."_

Shepard furrowed his brow and scooted his way off the bench. _Not a name I've heard in a while._ "Patch her through to the comm room. I'll be right there."

"Who's she?" Joker asked.

"An old CO. We go back."

If Whitwell was the same person he knew from his time aboard the _Munich_ , then she was calling because she wanted something only he could've provided. For anything else, she had her own N7.

Up the stairs and in the comm room, the orange-tinted hologram proved the "if" right. At least physically—her uniform bore a new honor or two, her angular face a few more wrinkles, but Anna Whitwell still had that statuesque stance.

Mercifully, the meds had dulled his headache to a light throbbing. Shepard saluted her. "Admiral."

"Commander." Like a machine Whitwell's arm came up to return it. "It's been some time."

"A long time, ma'am."

"If I had my way I would've kept you here on the _Munich_ forever, but…" Her small smile contrasted her eagle-like eyes. "Hackett has more pull than I do. To your benefit: now you have a command of your own, you're the first human Spectre, and you've become quite the Alliance poster boy. But I'm not calling to reminisce about our past or to marvel at your rapid climb up the galactic ladder. I'm asking for your help—not orders, a request."

And that confirmed the "then." "Ask away, ma'am."

"A few hours ago, the _Munich_ received a distress signal from Terra Nova. More specifically, an asteroid in its orbit. It seems that Asteroid X57 was moved from elsewhere in the system for mining purposes, but for some reason it's on a trajectory towards the planet's surface."

"And if that asteroid hits…" Ignoring the twist in his gut, Shepard glanced at the deck. "But why contact me?"

"The distress signal came from one of my crew on leave. Someone you know well: Staff Lieutenant Elizabeth Yin."

"Yin?" The image of fierce eyes behind a dirty visor came to mind. _Her own N7._ "If she's on leave, what's she doing on the asteroid?"

Whitwell stroked her chin. "I don't know. But if she's sending the signal, it means that she can't handle whatever's happening there herself. You're the only other N7 officer I know with comparable proven skill, and your ship can get to the Asgard system quickly enough. So my request: go to that asteroid, find Lieutenant Yin, find out what's happening, and stop the asteroid's descent."

"Understood."

"Good hunting, Shepard. It's good to be working with you again. Whitwell out."

The hologram blinked out as Shepard hit the comm line to the helm. "Pakti, we have a change of plans. After we re-fuel, set course for the Asgard system. Terra Nova."

 

The Mako halted at the top of what passed for a small hill on Asteroid X57. Below lay the next fusion torch, spewing a crimson plume of superheated molecules, and the small prefab in its shadow, surrounded by a dense circle of orange dots.

_What did you throw me into?_ Shepard thought. This time a blue planet, not a rusty red one, loomed in the corner of his sight. And this time he'd heard hundreds of gunshots, not just one. Most of all, this time was the _stereotype_. _"You're a Spectre now_ , _"_ he could imagine Whitwell saying. _"That implies… improvement."_

Improvement implied—no, _meant_ doing better than last time.

"Just like Atwell said." Ashley shifted in the driver's seat. "Blasting caps all over the perimeter. It's a minefield."

"Hostiles?" Shepard asked.

"Six active hardsuits patrolling the prefab," Kaidan said.

"Navigating the minefield's an option, but we'd have to deal with the blasting caps and the batarians at the time time." He'd strategized countless times before, but here was he most aware of his own thought processes. "Atwell said he rigged the caps with proximity sensors, probably not the highest quality. A few damping grenades should give us a clear approach on foot."

Wrex scoffed. "You think the guy would keep himself on the right side of his explosives. Could've kept the batarians out."

_I can't talk about logic in this situation_. "Williams, take us in as close as possible. Alenko, Wrex, you're with me. Garrus, cover us with the Mako's guns until we clear the minefield."

Ashley put her hands to the steering wheel. "Aye-aye."

A lurch forward sent the Mako rolling down the hill. Red-white flashes, image shaky from the Mako's shuddering, peppered the ground by the prefab. Their sources grew from black specks to tiny figures. And the orange dots became lit-up rods, fast. Just before the Mako hit the danger zone, Ashley swerved it right.

The exit hatch flew open. "Go!"

Wrex leapt out first. Shepard followed, tech grenade in one hand and pistol in the other. "Alenko, left."

The two grenades struck the minefield in explosions of blue-white. Four sensors went down. Wrex charged, assault rifle hot. The ground ahead shot up bursts of dust and rock under the Mako's pounding. On Shepard's radar, six hostiles became four. A biotic corona flared in the corner of his vision. One batarian engulfed in a mass effect field was flung into space. Shepard aimed and fired, taking another in the chest.

A few more steps put the danger zone behind them, and the Mako's assault ceased. Two batarians remained. One after Shepard's headshot. And Wrex threw the last into the active blasting caps.

Shepard didn't watch the explosion. "Alenko," he said, returning his pistol to his belt with a deep breath, "disarm the minefield. Radio Williams when it's safe. I'll get the door."

His radar showed the Mako's approach while his omni-tool's hacking programs made short work of the lock. Past the door and the decontamination chamber, a group of batarians retreated into the entrance hallway. Their desperate fire was aimed not at them, but at the prefab's main hall. _Another engineer?_ Shepard thought, remembering Kate Bowman. Instinct—and Whitwell's call—told him otherwise.

One of the batarians spun around towards the squad. "More?"

Shepard pulled the trigger. Kaidan and Wrex followed suit. When the last batarian fell, they proceeded down the hallway.

The sight in the main room confirmed Shepard's gut feeling. Amid a battered, ramshackle barricade of crates and debris, a lone helmeted human poked her head out then stood. A red stripe ran down the arm of her hardsuit, while the N7 insignia marked her chestplate.

Shepard stepped over a dead batarian. The focus of battle gave way to a smile beneath his helmet. "Yin?"

The woman stared at him. "Shepard." A half-relieved, half-mad laugh escaped her. "Wow. Of all the people to run into here."

"Friend of yours?" Kaidan asked.

"We went to N school together."

"Let me guess," Yin said. "Whitwell sent you."

"She did, special request. You all right?"

"Mostly. Varren claws nicked my leg." She gestured at the scratch marks on her thigh. "Nothing my suit can't handle."

"Good. We can catch up when planetary apocalypse isn't in the near future." Shepard spied the control room for the fusion torch and headed for the stairs.

"Straight to business. No wonder Whitwell liked you."

Two reunions in quick succession, Shepard mused as he reached the top of the steps. He didn't like looking back, but the speed at which the control room door opened reminded him of the SSV _Zama_ _._

After Elysium he woke up in the _Zama_ _'s_ medbay with a headache and an invitation to the CO's office. "I finished reading the reports," Whitwell said when he stepped inside, gazing at the haptic windows over her desk. "Nothing short of tactical genius, and maybe some luck. Now, the reason you're here. I've heard that that moron Pashutani has plans for you."

"He wants me to be a Special Intelligence Operative."

Whitwell scoffed. "The S-club. Fortunately for both of us he hasn't acted. You would go to waste as a simple saboteur. I'll make you a better offer. Say the word and you'll go to officer candidacy school. Finish that, and your next stop will be Interplanetary Combatives Training in Rio de Janeiro."

"N school?" he asked. "I'm honored, ma'am."

That younger Shepard, high off his victory and ignorant of his flaws, did say the word. When it was done and he earned his red stripe, Whitwell pulled him aboard her new command, the _Munich_ _._

Then… a red planet, a freighter, and a gunshot. _You're a Spectre now. That implies… improvement._


	6. Jeff Moreau - Knock on Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the squad’s freezing their way through Noveria, Joker makes a family call and goes down a dangerous line of thought.

"I keep asking Dad for a cat, but he says it's too expensive to get one shipped from Earth."

"Is there a 'hint-hint nudge-nudge wink-wink in that?" Joker asked.

The image of his sister paused, taking her big green eyes off the screen. "May-be."

On that same line of thought, while the cat was away the mouse played. For a moment Joker pictured a furry four-legged animal with a red stripe down its back prowling an alleyway, looking for the lives of small critters to ruin. Which wasn't far from the truth, if Noveria was the alleyway and its corporate goons the small critters.

But family calls were on the naughty scale's bottom end. And Shepard wasn't Captain Sandhu. So once the man stepped out the airlock to play with suits and snow, out went the transmission to a house on Tiptree. Hilary "Gunny" Moreau looked a little taller than last time, but she still answered Joker's calls with a wide smile.

 _And_ loads of questions. "How are you?" "What ship are you flying?" "What does it look like?" Joker was always willing to answer—as long as it was nothing classified—though it took a while to steer the conversation towards her and Dad. But there was one question she hadn't asked yet.

"You might end up waiting for a while. I'm a long way from Earth." The _Normandy_ spent its time in the Sol system orbiting Luna while Shepard and company wrestled with a rogue VI. Not much time for pet shopping then. "How's Dad doing, anyways?"

Gunny glanced over her shoulder. "Mom's birthday was yesterday. So, uh, you know."

Joker nodded. "Right." There was a holo of Mom in the prefab's living room, probably next to a fresh bouquet. She always wanted a cat, too, but she couldn't keep one on Arcturus.

"So where are you?" Gunny asked.

 _Classified._ "Somewhere you'd probably die of boredom."

"But if you can't tell me, it _has_ to be interesting."

"Trust me, if I was off the ship, I'd be dying of boredom, too." There was a distinct pang of pity for Shepard.

Gunny pouted. "My online classes are boring. Seeing new planets isn't."

"School is important, Gunny. I wouldn't be sitting in this chair, seeing new planets, if I didn't go to school. Hell, Commander Shepard had to go to school, too."

"I guess." Her eyes brightened. "Oh! How's Kayla?"

And there it was, the love life question. The time he brought Kayla Golding to Tiptree, Gunny spent all of dinner asking her about life on the Citadel. _"Glad you like her,"_ Joker told his sister. Then the brass came calling with a new assignment: senior helmsman on a prototype stealth frigate, full-time patrol in the Attican Traverse. "I don't know," he said. "We broke up three months ago."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it. Breakups happen. You'll see when you're older."

She paused, looking thoughtful. "Is there anyone new?"

"What, here on the ship?" Joker smiled. "Bad idea, Gunny."

"Why?"

"We have a word for dating crew. It's called 'fraternization.' And it's against the rules." Many of his postings had that one person who lucked out on their genes or a combination of personality traits that amounted to charm. Flight Lieutenant Shane Regalia was an idiot, but an attractive idiot. There was also Corporal Aida Lafont on the _Stalingrad_ _._ But on the _Normandy_ was the fraternization line of thought especially dangerous.

 

Not too long ago, the number of N7s aboard the _Normandy_ temporarily doubled. It was one thing to see two of them on the field, all clean precision with plenty of tech grenades to go around. Not enough time for the cohesion Shepard had with his squad, but the way their individual movements complemented each other showed a rusty synergy. The stuff of action vids, Joker decided, with more realism and less gritty stylizing.

It was another to see Shepard and Yin in fatigues. "That's not how I remember Rio," Shepard said as the two strolled down the bridge. Half an hour later, Joker heard two pairs of footsteps coming back up.

Lieutenant Yin spoke first. "Not bad. Smaller than the _Munich_ , but a step up. Just don't tell Whitwell I said that."

"Our secret. So I have to ask. What were you doing on the asteroid in the first place?"

"Spending my shore leave."

Joker looked behind him. Shepard stood by the airlock with his arms crossed. "Weird place for a vacation."

"Well, I wanted to spend it planetside." Half a head shorter than Shepard, Lieutenant Yin's loose posture contrasted the austerity of her face. As did her thick black ponytail and light makeup—hardly regulation, but born of the lenience that came with being the best. The same kind that let Joker wear his beard.

"But my dad wanted me to see how his business—you know, the private army—operates these days. Yin Security Services was running… well, security on Asteroid X57. Didn't turn out so well."

"Lucky you were there, then. You probably bought us enough time to stop them."

"And then you damsel-in-distressed me."

"Excuse me?"

"With your ‘kick down the door and save the girl' entrance."

"You had them under control."

"It's in the principle. Someday I'll find the opportunity to carry your princess ass down a tower."

 _Interesting mental image,_ Joker thought.

"Anyways." Yin took a step back towards the airlock. "I should get going. Gonna check in with dear old Dad, then hit the bars for a _proper_ shore leave. I'd ask you to join me, but…"

"But you just drink beer."

"I was gonna say 'you're big and important now.' But yes, you're also a booze snob. You were way more fun back in N school." She shrugged. "Wouldn't be like the good old days without Marco, anyways. Whatever happened to him?"

"We broke up a long time ago. He was reporting out in the Traverse, I was starting up on the _Munich_ _._ "

"Too bad, I liked him. Oh well." Yin snapped a crisp salute. "See you around, Commander."

Shepard returned the gesture. "Lieutenant. Take care of yourself, all right?"

"We wouldn't be here if we didn't."

Joker turned back around. Terra Nova's main orbital station drifted in the left viewport, the planet itself just below. "Oh, Commander," he said, "you should've introduced us. I wanted to hear all the embarrassing stories from N-school. There's gotta be a few, right?"

"She was short on time." Shepard appeared in the corner of his eyes. "Also there isn't a story that doesn't embarrass her, too."

"Except for the asteroid. Better stay away from towers, sir."

"Thanks for the advice. That kind of story usually ends in marriage, and Yin's not my type."

 _I guess that Marco guy was?_ Joker almost asked, but the commanding officer's love life didn't make for an appropriate discussion. Instead he started prepping the _Normandy_ 's departure procedures. "All right, well, we're resupplied and ready to go. Should take less than a day to hit the Utopia Secondary, which'll bring us straight to the Pax System."

"Take us there."

Shepard headed back towards the CIC, leaving Joker with the organized chaos of his station.

 

"I can't give you the time you deserve," he told Kayla Golding several months ago. He heard—and lived—Shepard's story before. Kayla gave him a measured, understanding response, but the tiniest hint of disappointment was on her face. Joker knew it too well for it to slip past him. Did the guy have the same look, Joker wondered. Did Shepard?

_You're thinking way too hard about his ex. Probably because Shepard dates guys. Probably because…_

_Probably because you're an_ idiot.

"But it'd be really cool," Gunny said. "I mean, romance on a super awesome ship."

"Cool on paper. Awkward when you actually see it played out."

"So you don't wanna be like Han Solo and Princess Leia, or Wash and Zoe, or DeSantos and Sugitan?"

"Two things. One, the _Millenium Falcon_ and the _Serenity_ weren't military. Two, the SSV _Quezon City_ was, but the writers of _Intergalactic_ didn't do their research. Bad things happen when crewmates get caught kissing in the cargo hold."

"Which are?"

"Mountains of paperwork, uncomfortable meetings with your superiors, and going down as a hormonal idiot in the crew's history. Then your crewmates make snarky references to you after you're gone."

"Are you talking from experience?"

"Nope. Like I said, it's awkward when you see it played out."

 _"Attention."_ The ship VI cut him off. _"By order of the commanding officer, all personnel are to enact Heightened Alert procedures due to active geth presence in Port Hanshan."_

 _Great_ , _if it isn't plant zombies clawing at the door, it's geth._ He pulled up a window of the ship's sensors, then turned his attention to a baffled Gunny. He'd switched off the audio input the moment the VI started up, leaving her in the dark. "Sorry, gotta go. Important galaxy-saving business as usual."

"Wait, so there's nobody on your ship you like even a little?"

He sighed. Over his shoulder, the bridge crew was trickling into their stations with suited marines standing guard. Grenado and Hasan would be at the helm soon. Gunny stared at him, waiting for his response.

"Shepard's nice to look at." Joker said. Gunny's resulting beaming proved infectious. "Okay gotta go say 'hi' to Dad bye."

Flight instruments and ship status updates returned to front and center as Gunny waved goodbye and disappeared. Grenado and Hasan chirped unminded greetings at him. _Commander Shepard_. A big damn hero, but a good guy, too. _"I am the best damn helmsman in the Alliance fleet,"_ Joker said, and Shepard had no objections.

 _And he's nice to look at, and he swings my way. Well probably not_ my _way—_ Joker pressed his lips together at his own ridiculousness. He'd been over the anti-crush buzzwords countless times. _Bones and leagues._ Not to mention, in this case, _Commander._

Too bad Heightened Alert confined him to his station. He needed more coffee.


	7. Liara T'Soni - Not a Social Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief has no place in asari politics. Liara learns as much when she deals with the ramifications of her mother’s actions.

"Doctor T'Soni? The matriarch will see you now."

 _She speaks to me like I'm a child._ Still, Liara T'Soni stood, thanked the receptionist, and proceeded down a long white hallway. The door at the end boasted statues of Matriarch Elyssia, the first asari Councilor, on each side. A tradition among politically active asari, but while others had theirs in gold or silver and the like, the deep red rendered Elyssia's graceful features more intimidating than serene.

 _Doctor T'Soni, I was recently informed of Matriarch Benezia's death_ , the message read. _Given her past status and her recent situation, I must require you to meet with me on the Citadel. Bring all audio and visual footage that you are authorized to disclose._

Elyssia's eyes bore down on her as she stepped up to the door. _This is a member of Councilor Tevos' inner circle,_ she reminded herself. Anything she revealed here could reach the Council's ears and impact the _Normandy_ 's mission. Perhaps that, more so than the obvious reasons of species, was why the matriarch requested her presence over Shepard's. She glanced back at the receptionist, then opened the door.

Liara stepped into a careful order of black, white, red, and gold. With ancient statues and tablets enshrined atop ornate pedestals, the office seemed more a personal museum than a workspace. She wanted to peek at one of the relics, but forced her gaze to fix itself on the two asari waiting for her.

"Welcome. I'm pleased you came so quickly." Matriarch Irissa took her seat behind a wide oval desk and motioned to a chair. White markings masked her weathered face, but the gentle curves of her features didn't hide the almost predatory look in her eyes.

Liara complied. The other asari stared at her, standing in elegant armor at the desk's corner.

The chair pressed into all the wrong parts of her back. Ignoring the discomfort as best she could, Liara bowed her head to Irissa. "It is an honor to meet with you."

"This is no social call." Irissa poured two cups of water and placed one before Liara. "The matriarchs of the Republics have taken the matter of Benezia's betrayal very seriously. And I mean _very_ seriously."

"Not only them," the armored asari said, her voice nearly baritone.

Irissa nodded. "Indeed. Doctor, meet Justicar Zalene."

The Justicar offered her a small nod, otherwise motionless. Liara forced herself to return it. "A Justicar?" she asked. "Outside asari space?"

"Benezia's actions," Irissa said, "are common knowledge among Councilor Tevos' advisers, as well as the matriarchs of Thessia. When Tevos informed me, I saw fit to tell one other contact."

Zalene cast a slight frown at her. "You speak as if I am at your beck and call. I am not. Matriarch Benezia served a murderer of innocents. The Code mandated her death."

"Then Commander Shepard and Doctor T'Soni have completed your quest."

"They have." And Zalene's flat stare fell on Liara again. "You are to be commended. I must admit my curiosity as to how you killed her."

"I… have camera recordings from my hardsuit."

Irissa set her fingers on a keyboard. Two haptic windows appeared between her and Liara. "Excellent. I've set up a secure link for you to send them."

A moment after Liara did so, Irissa turned towards a new window at the opposite end of the desk from Zalene. Liara tensed at the still it displayed: her mother, face frozen with malice and venom, standing in an Ardat-Varansa ready stance. "We're watching the footage now?" she asked, eyes fixed on Matriarch Benezia's mad grin.

"I need hard evidence of her death," Zalene said.

 _I'll remember her as she lived,_ she had told Shepard. Her mother had a sad smile as Liara stepped into the skycar that took her to the university. But when the click sounded in the office and the still sprung to life, Noveria, not Thessia, came rushing to the forefront of her thoughts.

Gunfire, the rest of the squad pinned down by asari commandos and geth. Biotic hums, Benezia's violent aura flaring.

Two against one, but her mother kept both Liara and Shepard at bay. Pistol slugs met a nigh-impenetrable barrier, tech grenades met biotic waves that flung them elsewhere. And as Liara and Shepard circled Benezia, trying to break her defenses, her grin widened.

"Troubling," Irissa said. "I never thought her capable of appearing so deranged."

"Saren's influence." _Indoctrination_ , but now was not the time to explain.

Benezia signed a mnemonic—Liara knew this frame and the moment it depicted too well. She countered with her own warp field. The window went white. She remembered how her body ached, how her arms felt like dead weight on her shoulders. The flash of horror when she saw Shepard lying face down and unmoving. Her biotic barrier had absorbed most of the shockwave, but he had no such protection.

Her voice and her mother's voice sounded in the recording. Liara didn't want to listen. _"I am so proud of you,"_ Benezia said before dying. _"Good night, Little Wing, I will see you at dawn's light."_

 _"Pity."_ The recording played louder than before. On the screen her mother slipped back into a ready stance, the same one Liara used in two-handed biotic duels. _"You are my daughter, but Saren's will transcends blood."_

A disapproving sound from behind. "The words of a fanatic," Zalene said. "Saren's influence indeed."

She was a person whose lifetime spanned almost six of Liara's, who witnessed countless generations of other species come and go. She was philosopher, rational and forward-thinking, now staring at her through the haptic window with madness branded on her face. Liara traded blow for blow, field for field, barrier for barrier, but she could only hold her off until the others could come to her aid.

Then Benezia lunged, and all those centuries came crashing down on her. For those long, long seconds, her world was the swirling mess of biotic blues and purples and whites. The distortion of gravity tugging her in every direction. The black pits of her mother's pupils.

 _"Liara, hold on, I'm coming!"_ Ashley's voice snapped her out of the recording's world. Liara sat back, feeling awkward curves against her shoulder blades again. She was in an office on the Citadel, not Noveria. For once she was grateful for that chair.

In the window, Ashley created the distraction that gave her the opening she needed. In the real world, Liara looked aside. Irissa's head was pointed towards the recording, but her eyes were on Liara—only for a split-second. _Were you watching me this whole time, gauging my reaction?_ Justicar Zalene remained statuesque as ever.

The last biotic blast sent Benezia flying backwards and into the floor. The footage ended.

Dying gunfire dropped to pure silence. Irissa turned her chair around, her face a model of thoughtful poise. "Thank you. That was… very enlightening. And disturbing. Did you ever have any notion of… instability in Benezia?"

As a child, Liara dug up abandoned toys and trinkets in the park and raced to show them to her mother. Benezia gave her a bemused smile as she appraised her finds. "No," Liara said. "Her time with Saren changed her." _Saren's ship twisted her into some horrible mockery._

"Evidently," Irissa said. "Or, as the Council suspected, perhaps she concealed her true nature well. Regardless, Matriarch Benezia is dead." She looked at Zalene. "And there is your proof."

The justicar nodded. "The footage suffices. My quest beyond asari space is concluded, then."

"You don't want to pursue Saren?" Liara asked.

"Saren is not asari, and he operates outside of asari space. If he attacks our worlds, I will respond. For now, I leave justice to the human Spectre." Justicar Zalene dipped her head and moved to the door. "Lady Irissa. Doctor T'Soni. Goddess watch your steps."

Liara bowed her head in kind. "And yours."

She listened to the door slide open and closed. Irissa let out a small breath. "It's both a blessing and a curse that the Justicars confine themselves. Now, about Benezia. Has anyone else contacted you about her death?"

"No."

"That's not surprising. The matriarchs on Thessia are likely too busy fighting over her other assets."

 _What is she talking about?_ "Assets?"

"Why, her contacts, her resources, her power base. Benezia had built up quite a large one over the last two hundred years. I expect a vicious battle over its remnants." Irissa stared at Liara's confused expression and chuckled. "Poor child. Did you think a matriarch spent her twilight years babbling philosophy into the sunset?"

Liara's jaw dropped a little. "No, I—"

"You didn't? My peers love to perpetuate that image. The reality is that matriarchs are traders more than teachers, dealing in the currency of influence. Philosophy lessons are quaint investments in the young, but the real benefit goes to the lecturer herself."

"I don't understand."

"You do. I see now that Benezia sheltered you from the subtler aspects of politics, but you are more than capable of piecing the picture together."

Liara dropped her gaze. Lectures, debates, counseling… the basics of the matriarch's role had one thing in common. "The currency of influence… the matriarchs gain it by spreading their ideas." _Why? To what end?_ The basic elements of a thesis strung themselves together for her. "The more they can sway to their perspectives, the more policy votes go where they want them to."

"Influence breeds connections, connections breed a power base, a power base spreads influence. Nearly every asari raised in our space, whether they're aware of it or not, falls into a matriarch's domain. And when a matriarch is disgraced…"

"The others take as much as they can."

"You'll never find a more civil frenzy of scavengers."

Faceless matriarchs were meeting faceless asari behind closed doors, but Liara felt no loss at that. The two-bedroom house on Thessia, the yellow dresses in the closet, those were her mother's. After Benezia's will, those were now hers. "I'm… sorry, but I thought this meeting was about my mother, not politics."

"The two subjects are intertwined. I thought that was obvious." Irissa sipped her glass of water. "And perhaps a bitter old negotiator wants to impart some practical knowledge on the young."

ExoGeni on Feros and the researchers on Noveria had taught her to suspect ulterior motives. Matriarch Irissa had been watching her react to the footage. Was that why she played it? _Is she testing me? For what?_ "Do you have any other questions for me?"

Irissa glanced downward. "Only a word of advice. There are expectations on you. Adhere to them or defy them, but choose wisely and choose soon."


	8. Ashley Williams - Reasonably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley helps recover a clan’s lost relic and a family’s lost loved one, realizing a few things about worth and fighting.

She let Wrex do the honors with a wave of his omni-tool. The locker's door swung open at an almost dramatic lack of speed. Inside the shiny case rested a crumbled red hardsuit. Krogan-shaped, as expected, but it boasted little other than dents, nicks, and missing parts.

Beside her Wrex rumbled out of either disgust or satisfaction. Maybe both. He lay a gauntleted hand on the old armor. "All that effort for this piece of crap."

"'Crap' the krogan word for 'important?'"

"If it makes you feel better when I call your shooting crap."

"Yeah, my crap shooting didn't save your ass from that sniper."

"Bah. Wouldn't have even tickled me."

"Uh-huh." Funny how she might've taken offense to that comment a few weeks ago. Despite her misgivings about taking a krogan merc aboard a prototype human warship, Shepard urged her to get to know him. Their conversations in the cargo bay revealed a blunt wisdom and a cool practicality that she hadn't expected.

She looked back at the armor. "So. That was your grandfather's?"

"Yeah. He wore it during the Rachni Wars. By the time I saw it, it was already old junk. Ceremonial only, no good in a fight anymore." He scowled. "Didn't stop the turians from stealing it after the Rebellions."

Sometimes she wondered what medals and ribbons her grandfather had to tuck away after Shangxi, how many people who once saluted him instead refused to say his name. But it was better to act than to point fingers and sulk. And while Ashley didn't have General Williams' rank, crewing on the most important ship in the Alliance fleet? She was moving up in the galaxy.

 _"Keep it up,"_ her father said. _"You'll be a general in no time."_

Wrex's grunt brought her back to the present as he pulled open a compartment in the gauntlet—hidden, it seemed, and the centuries made it even more so. His claws reached inside and lifted. "Good thing they never found this."

"And that's…"

A dusty disk rested between Wrex's fingers. "A gift from Warlord Shiagur."

 

Antiseptic and more hung their odors in the stale air. The blank white corridors criss-crossed with 90-degree corners. Men and women in lab coats walked up and down, all _tap-tap-taps_ of work shoes and hushed murmurs of scientific jargon. This was no place for a body, Ashley decided.

"… recovered weapons from Eden Prime…" Bosker, business suit blocky at the shoulders, rattled on—had rattled on the whole time.

A pale holographic sign on the ceiling marked the line dividing Administrative from R&D. That faint touch of odor cocktail grew ever so stronger. Meanwhile, scientists shot glances at the marine in her dress blues, welcome diagonals in this micro-world. Not furrowed eyebrows, not even the slightest hints of frowns, just glances lent the satisfaction of an unspoken victory to this whole visit. They weren't too different from the suspicious looks the guards outside gave Wrex as they told him to remain outside. She took that as a compliment.

"… early conceptual stages for reverse-engineering—"

"You can stop with the 'we're doing important work' speech."

Bosker blinked and gulped, stiffening as if expecting her to punch him in the face. He was the walking sign of the spoken victory that came before.

"Where are they keeping her?" Ashley asked.

Bosker took a breath to collect himself, then gestured towards the end of the hallway. "Last door on the right."

Ash started on ahead of him before he added, "I can just have her brought to the ship. You can oversee the transport, but you don't have to go inside the morgue."

She was very aware of her fist. Instead she turned away and continued on. "I don't have to, but I will."

It was a good thing she didn't cave in, either here or in the embassy bar. Shepard wouldn't have taken kindly to a call that went "Hey, Commander, I just punched a diplo-corps guy, can you get me into this research facility?" She didn't like having to involve him, but this was important.

Ashley held her omni-tool to the entrance console. Shepard's Spectre clearance rolled down the haptic window, then the door parted. _I'll get him a drink after this._ Ignoring the stinging smell of the sanitized dead, she stepped down the aisle between rows of long metal cases. She looked at them, one by one, until she found the name she recognized: _Bhatia, Nirali._ A name less ancient and more personal than Wrex's disk, but still worth fighting for.

The case was a keystroke away from opening up, opening up and revealing an embalmed, withered thing that used to be one of her closest friends in the 212. There would be incisions, she realized, where the scientists wanted closer looks at her "unique wounds."

"Chief Williams?" Bosker stood at the closed door with two men. "We can take Serviceman Bhatia when you're ready."

Only Samesh had a right to that keystroke. "Go ahead."

 

Rapid synth rhythms pounded her eardrums and red light blanketed her vision as she stepped inside Flux. Beneath the curved, cavernous ceiling, a crowd overtook most of the dance floor while less-inclined clubgoers squeezed around the array of tables. Her target lay towards the back of the club, a long bar backed by a red-lit wall of liquors.

 _"Serviceman Bhatia would've—" "How do you know what she would've wanted? You didn't serve with her."_ Bosker's spew sounded more like the geth's unfeeling calculus rather than a living, feeling human being. Or sentient beings, she thought, remembering Wrex as he gazed at his family armor. Ash needed a drink.

"Clean," Wrex said, "too clean. Chora's Den was Fist's little pyjak hole, but it had energy."

Well, one was a place where perverts ogled scantily-clad pole dancers on a stage. The other was a nightclub. Ashley looked at the dancers and the drinkers as she passed by them, then back at Wrex. "Whatever you say." She went up to the bar and asked for a cocktail.

"Shot of ryncol," Wrex said.

One glass with an umbrella and a shot glass came sliding across. Ashley, once she paid, found herself staring at the green liquid inside the latter. "Ryncol?"

Wrex picked up the shot glass and tossed it back like it was nothing. "Krogan liquor. Don't try it. It'll tear your guts up."

"I've heard of it," she said, thinking back to one of her first assignments. "A marine I used to serve with got his hands on a bottle of it somehow. Tried getting our unit to take a shot with him as some kind of 'macho' test."

Wrex stared at her. "Translator didn't catch that one."

She blinked. "Oh. Manly. Masculine." Ash took a sip of her drink. "Never understood why guys need to do all these tests to prove their manliness to each other. So you passed one. Okay, now pick up your rifle, shoot the bad guys, and save the day. You know, the important stuff." She had gotten what she paid for, a bittersweet concoction where the juice didn't quite blend with the booze.

"You sound like a shaman I know. She keeps going on about how krogan chest-pounding is pointless, that there are more important things to worry about."

"Maybe she's got the right idea."

Wrex shrugged. "She does, though nobody listens. That's why I left Tuchanka."

"So you just gave up."

"They're not worth the effort."

 _Not worth the effort,_ the naysayers said when another Williams enlisted with the Alliance, but she wasn't fighting a few millenia's worth of cultural attitudes. Shepard thought the rachni worth a second chance on Noveria, but Wrex didn't hold his species' fate in the push of a button.

 _Not worth the effort,_ Wrex said, but Ashley remembered the armor and how he held it. _Weren't we just talking about ryncol?_

"All right, all right. Let's change the subject. How's it going with that disk you found?"

"The coding on that thing is ancient. I can't find anyone who can open it up anymore."

"What about Tali?"

"What about her?"

"She hacked into a geth's memory core and got the evidence we needed. Maybe she can help you." Wrex's mouth opened, but Ash said, "Just give her a chance."

"Fine."

Ashley finished her drink and shoved the glass aside. "You said that thing was a gift from a warlord?"

"Warlord Shiagur. She led a small clan, but every krogan respected her. One of the last fertile females after the turians dropped the genophage on us. My grandfather was a… close ally."

"What happened to her?" she asked.

"She died towards the end of the Rebellions. Battle of Canrum. A thousand krogan against ten times as many turians. I remember the day they broadcast the news of her death. Never heard so many cries for revenge in my life. They made good on it, too. More than half of the turians who fought in the battle died." Wrex chuckled. "Outnumbered ten to one, and inspiring a slaughter? I say that's a good death."

"So this disk is a message or something?"

"Could be a lot of things. That's why I need it decrypted."

 _Because it's important to your people?_ Begrudging determination was not a new concept for her. Ashley ordered another cocktail and another ryncol shot, slid the latter to Wrex when they came. "Thought the krogan weren't worth the effort."

"You getting at something?"

"Your grandpa's armor's one thing. But the disk…"

A look came over Wrex, defensive or irritated or both. "Part of the promise I made. Nothing more."

"I bet it's more than that." She raised her glass. "To Tuchanka?"

After a moment Wrex followed suit with a grumble. "To that barren, thresher maw-infested rock."


	9. Kaidan Alenko - Into Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nepheron lies at the end of the trail.

"All hostiles eliminated."

Nepheron's jagged mountains, topped with glowing peaks in the sunset, stopped with the Mako beyond the forward viewport. Smoking corpses littered the shadowed battlefield.

Ashley let out a satisfied sigh from the driver's seat. "Avoiding anti-tank rockets left and right. Great way to start this party off."

"Damage report?" Shepard asked.

Kaidan glanced at the Mako's status display. A few sections of the tank's wireframe blinked red while the shield meter crept back to full. "Minor damage to the port rear section. Rocket probably clipped it. Nothing that needs immediate attention, but it'd be a good idea to patch it up in case they send reinforcements."

"Good. Tali, Garrus, keep watch and repair the Mako. The rest of you, with me."

Wrex cocked his shotgun. "Just the way I like it."

Kaidan checked his suit seals and his pistol before following the others out. A trapdoor entrance lay close by, in the center of the dead bodies. At Shepard's gesture he approached and started working on the lock.

"So it comes down to this?" Liara asked.

The trail of Armistan Banes—a dead impostor with a dead man's identity—led them from that Citadel warehouse to Admiral Kahoku. To Edolus, where they found the admiral's men victim to a thresher maw trap. To a space station crawling with rachni test subjects. To Binthu and Kahoku's body. And now Nepheron.

Whatever this base held in store, Kaidan hoped raiding it would leave Cerberus crippled for a long time. "Yeah."

The trapdoor opened to a flight of stairs. Ashley and Wrex took point, with Kaidan and Liara in the middle and Shepard in the rear. Past the last step stood a second door. Kaidan's HUD pinged. "Hostiles on the other side. Five hardsuits, three turrets."

"Closed network," Shepard said. "Can't take the auto-defenses down until we get in. Go."

Kaidan unlocked the door. The first turret came down to meet them.

Liara threw up a wide biotic shield that rippled under the rapid fire. Wrex, glowing with his own barrier, charged through with a roar. The turret swiveled to meet the diversion. A burst of Ashley's rifle reduced it to scraps.

The enemy guarded a wide wall of overturned desks and research stations. Kaidan's shields whined while he dove for a crate. "Williams, suppressive fire on the troopers," Shepard said. "Alenko, the turrets."

Kaidan snapped a tech grenade off his belt and threw it. When he fired back, one of the turrets only crackled. A few troopers fussed with their weapons from behind the barricade. Kaidan got one through a gap. Then Wrex swung over and onto their heads.

"Grenade, stay down, Kaidan!"

The second he registered Liara's voice over comms he felt a distortion in the air above his head. A biotic wave snapped through the air and caught a metal cylinder on its descent. Its explosion tore into the ceiling instead.

 _Thanks_ , he thought, reaching for his belt. The last turret lost its shields to another of his tech grenades, its barrel to a sniper shot from Shepard.

A far door opened with more troopers running in. Their gunfire only lasted a few seconds before the space around them folded towards a blue-cored mass effect field. Kaidan signed his own mnemonic. The last few soldiers rose into the air, limbs flailing. Gunfire came only from Kaidan's side of the room. Then the alarm remained as the only sound.

From there, Shepard acquired a layout of the facility. Three attack routes meant a three-way split of the squad, leading towards a main office and the Cerberus data it contained. Kaidan tailed Wrex through a series of research labs, dormitories, and corridors. The krogan battlemaster made quick work of anything in their path, while Kaidan watched their six and supported Wrex where he could.

They soon came to a room full of deactivated, smoking turrets. "Guess Shepard took 'em down," Wrex said.

Light flickered in mid-air behind Wrex. _A mass effect field?_ No, the shape was too static.

Two Cerberus troopers rounded a corner past the far door. Kaidan threw one backwards with his biotics. Wrex blasted a hole in the other's chest. The bodies dropped as the light reappeared for a moment, closer to the ground.

 _Almost like a leg_. Kaidan clenched his jaw. "Wrex. Hold a sec."

Wrex stopped and turned around. "What?"

Kaidan aimed his pistol at the faint outline in the room with them.

It blurred. A brush against his gut was the only warning. Invisible force smashed into Kaidan's jaw. The back of his head bumped against the wall. A grip took his neck and slammed him down. Through the daze of his impact he heard the click of an unfolding gun and a brief, low hum.

A krogan roar, not a gunshot, followed. Dull thuds in his ears made the floor vibrate beneath him. Kaidan forced his head to the side to watch a black-clad figure roll away from Wrex's charge. Light enveloped it, and it faded away. Wrex—a blurred, shifting image of Wrex—scanned the room, growling. A tech grenade landed at his feet.

"Look out," Kaidan wanted to say, but his mouth refused to work. Even pulling the two words into a thought took effort.

A green burst. Wrex staggered, his barrier fading. The figure reappeared, but Wrex caught whatever blow it landed with his thick armor. It vanished again. Reappeared again. Danced circles around Wrex the whole time.

The room's details sharpened a little. Kaidan felt his fingers drag across the floor. Trying the same with his arms, he lifted himself off the ground and let his back meet the wall. He reached for his dropped pistol. The next time the Cerberus trooper slipped into that stealth cloak, he looked for the outline and aimed his gun.

His arm shook, but when Kaidan pulled the trigger the soldier appeared in a crackling flash, clutching a thigh. Wrex landed the last shot.

"Bah," Wrex said, lowering his shotgun. "Only cowards fight by hiding." He looked up at Kaidan. "Not bad."

"I…" Kaidan clutched his head. "Was aiming for the chest." His HUD noted the painkillers that his hardsuit injected into him, though Kaidan must've been too focused—as focused as he could've been—on the Cerberus ambush to notice. Regardless, he felt clear enough to press on to the main office.

Only Shepard awaited them there. Behind the desk a uniformed woman was sprawled in a leather chair, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes.

"Sir," Kaidan said, remembering Fist. "Did you…"

Shepard glanced at him, then at the body. "No, suicide. Poison, probably. They don't want anyone being taken alive."

An angular symbol, black with orange fangs, loomed on the far wall. _Their logo?_ It gave a face of sorts to the name Kahoku hunted to his death. What if they never investigated the Banes impostor? Kahoku would still be on the Citadel, but those soldiers' corpses would still be baiting rescuers into the mouth of a thresher maw. The transformed Chasca colonists would still be haunting their prefabs. And the Thorian and rachni experiments would continue on.

A haptic window appeared above the desk. _"Commander Shepard."_ Distortion rendered a booming, reverberating voice.

Shepard narrowed his eyes. "And you are?"

_"That depends on you. I realize that the operations you saw throughout the Traverse weren't the best first impression of our organization. I hope we can overcome that. You may not think so, but you and I have similar goals. We could be natural allies."_

"You're right. I don't think so." Shepard looked at Kaidan and nodded.

He opened his omni-tool and started a recording. A signal trace ran him into a wall of encryption and more.

_"That's unfortunate. You see, I have a great deal of respect for you. Every day, the first human Spectre proves that we have a rightful place in galactic civilization. If you defeat Saren, you'll prove even more."_

"What, exactly?"

_"That our alien neighbors have a more tenuous grip on power than they believe, and to survive, they'll need our help."_

_Are they talking about the Reapers?_ Kaidan wondered. He found traces of Alliance encryption protocols, but nothing that familiarity could turn into a vulnerability.

Footsteps sounded from outside. "What's going—oh." Ashley looked at Shepard and the window and fell silent, brows furrowed. Liara, armor battered on one side, entered behind her.

"If your help means experimenting on monsters, I don't think they'll want it."

_"'Want' and 'need' are different things. Necessary evils exist for a reason, Shepard. You understand, don't you?"_

"Understanding and agreeing are different things, too. A lot of terrorists think they're helping. They—and you—are not."

 _"I'm sorry you think that way. I hope Cerberus can change your mindset in the future. In the meantime, best of luck hunting Saren. A lot rides on your shoulders."_ A click, then the window flickered and faded, leaving the office in silence.

Ashley broke it with a sigh. "Great. The terrorist nutjobs think they're the good guys."

"That's usually how it is," Shepard said. "Kaidan, did you trace the signal?"

"No, sir. Heavy-duty encryption. Modified version of what Alliance brass uses."

"All right. Williams, Wrex, I want a clean sweep of this facility. Alenko, Liara, see what you can grab from the Cerberus databases."

"On it." The former two filed out of the office. Shepard turned away to contact Garrus and Tali.

The corpse remained frozen in the chair while he hacked his way through the desk computer's security systems. All those atrocities, he thought, glancing at the wide wall, tied to a few dozen faceless soldiers, a logo, and a distorted voice. Not quite as clear as Saren—from whom Cerberus had distracted the _Normandy_ for too long—but close enough.


	10. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya - Three Projects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three projects, three gifts, three small steps forward.

The melody rippled through the server room. Synthesized vibrations at deliberate frequencies and deliberate patterns bounced off the floor. Off the walls, the ceiling, off the violet, claw-shaped geth data centers. Her suit filtered the sound and relayed it in real-time to her ears. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya frowned at the tune. Machines had no use for the aesthetic works of organics. _An insult,_ her first instinct was, but they had no need for those, either.

She approached the center terminal and opened up her omni-tool. Shepard assigned her to find the geth data banks and download any and all useful data. Geth operations in the Armstrong Nebula and beyond, she surmised, but she had her own search.

The complexity of the virtual architecture and its countless optimizations reminded her that very, very few quarians had ever gotten this opportunity. If only she had unlimited storage space…

_No. Something about how the geth have evolved._ She entered a search query and began.

"Hey." Her suit's radar showed Ashley coming up behind her. "How's the download coming?"

Tali's gaze remained focused on the geth windows and her own omni-tool. "Very slowly. Geth data is formatted differently from what the rest of the galaxy. It's entirely illegible without a reader."

Ashley stepped to her side in the corner of her vision. "A reader? I guess that translates the data?"

"Yes. The geth used to rely on standard formatting, but they've changed. Translating geth data is the only real advancement my people have made since then. Until now, we haven't had many chances to study them." The search turned up results on the Armstrong Nebula. Tali started to download. "And with a geth database, I can't just dump everything into my omni-tool like a geth memory core. It's—"

She glanced at Ashley. Human and asari faces showed attention in similar ways. Tali saw none of them on hers. "Err, sorry. I babble enough to Shepard about my people and the geth already."

"Fancy tech isn't really my strong suit." Ashley stared at the geth console. "But this is really important to you, huh?"

The quarian hymn continued on, a choir singing a simple melody to a steady rhythm. Those nameless singers would've been standing in a grand temple, all tall walls and ornate domes. Stone and steel tablets inscribed with ancestors' names covered the walls from floor to ceiling. And Tikkun's light shone through the windows, casting warm golden rays on uncovered quarian skin.

Outside the temple were more buildings. Schools. Parks. Streets. Skycars. Spaceports, where starships weren't the entire world, only vehicles for getting from one to the other. Wind and rain—some of the _Normandy_ crew talked about them so casually. Tali had only seen wind speed measurements and trickling raindrops on her visor.

And those singers were long dead. Geth bombardments ensured that the temple, the schools, the parks and streets and skycars and spaceports only existed in half-decayed holograms.

_"It's important. To my people,"_ Wrex said about his disk. If that was his gift to the krogan, the geth data was hers to the fleet.

"Yes," she said to Ashley. "It is."

A second window appeared above her omni-tool. The schematics themselves were under heavy encryption, but the file IDs… early post-exodus geth designs. The fleet didn't have any clear records, but the picture of a single house for a single family on Rannoch, surrounded by bur'that shrubs and red alarei trees, shone brighter in her imagination than any other.

"Now _that_ I can understand," Ashley said.

Tali downloaded the data. "All right. It's done. We should get back to Shepard."

 

The _Normandy_ had become a home, too, though quieter and emptier than the _Rayya_. At least the cargo bay was. Tali knew that the bridge was louder.

"So, uh," Joker asked, "tell me again what we're doing?"

Tali fitted nodule after nodule on an unused hardsuit sitting on the workbench. "My message wasn't that complicated. I want to give Shepard a gift, and I wanted to test it while he's busy with the Council. Everyone says you know him best, so…"

Joker sat down on a crate. "All right, all right. So what're you getting him?"

"You were watching the mission on Nepheron through our cams, right? Kaidan told me about a Cerberus trooper who used some kind of cloaking technology. On the last sweep, I took the trooper's hardsuit and omni-tool data and tried to reverse-engineer it."

"You couldn't just rip the tech out and stick on his armor?"

"That's _salvaging._ You salvage when you need a quick repair for some broken-down engine. Some quarians bring useful salvage back from their Pilgrimage, but… Shepard deserves more than that."

"Yeah," Joker said after a moment. "He does."

"See? Now to test it." Tali adjusted the last few nodules and opened up her omni-tool.

"This won't blow a huge chunk out of my ship, right?"

Tali tossed him a look. "I've been working on the _Normandy_ 's advanced prototype drive core for weeks, and you're worried about my modifications to a hardsuit?"

Joker raised his hands. "Just kidding."

She switched on the power source—re-purposed from a kinetic shield generator—and booted up the activation program. Tali had replicated the Cerberus coding line for line, taking extra care to watch for any unwanted malicious processes. The caution the geth had instilled was good for other things.

In the corner of her visor, Joker leaned forward. A nodule flared bright white. Then another. Two. Four. Sixteen. The lights overtook the hardsuit like a wave, only to fade to nothing. Seconds later, only a fuzzy distortion of space remained where the hardsuit lay.

"Wow," Joker said.

"It worked!" Though some portions of the stealth field flickered light gray. "It's not perfect yet, but it worked. Do you think Shepard will like it?"

Joker rested his chin on a hand. "If it'll let him sneak up to the big bad guy and shoot him in the back of his head, he'll love it. Probably will love it even more if he gets to work on it."

Shepard had mentioned working on various omni-tool projects, asking for her help on more than one occasion. "He'd have to fix the power fluctuations in the light displacement map, bugfix the old Cerberus coding, install the nodules into his hardsuit…"

"I think he's one of the few people who likes half-finished tech gifts."

"Then I'll give it to him soon." Tali shut down the cloak, picked up the chestpiece, and stood. "Thanks for coming down. I should get back to work."

Joker lifted himself off the crate, grabbing his crutches. "Right. Think I have time for another episode of _C-Sec: Zakera_ before Shepard finishes facepalming at the Council?"

Tali stared at him. "You watch _Zakera? Tayseri_ 's so much better."

"Okay, _Tayseri_ has Sheera'Kai, and she's great, but you know what it doesn't have? Yarelia T'Sora. James Chen-Evans."

"If you say so."

As Joker stepped into the elevator, Tali tucked the chestpiece into her locker and returned to engineering. During the lulls between maintenance procedures, she opened up an extra window. Over half of Wrex's data was decrypted with an acceptable amount of error—the third project.

_"It's important to my people. A relic from the Rebellions."_ Tali sensed a "don't mess it up" in Wrex's words, but it didn't bother her. Her father had spoken the same way when he let her view the old records—some of the Fleet's greatest treasures—aboard the _Rayya._

_Towering cities under Tikkun's rays._ Tuchanka had cities, Wrex told her when she asked, all sprawling ruins dotting the planet's barren surface. Did Wrex ever imagine them whole? Skyscrapers and temples and streets and parks? Tali pictured Wrex gazing wistfully at the stars and chuckled to herself.

But as amusing as the idea of nostalgic Wrex was, the real one spoke of Tuchanka with a bitter edge to his rumble. Tali looked at the project's progress and wished it would go faster.


	11. Ashley Williams - Definitely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outnumbered and outgunned, Ashley’s determined to make a damn good last stand.

"Screw that, go back and get Alenko."

The radio buzzed with static. Explosions rumbled near and far. And gunfire roared and panged, punctuated with the crashing of landing geth. Yes, this was a hell of a party.

Ashley Williams braced as rapid fire ripped into her cover. Bits of stone and metal scattered around her. A scream from her side as Lieutenant Jakhia fell, his hardsuit breached in dozens of places and salarian blood dripping from his shattered visor. Ash blind-fired her rifle. A small relief when one of the countless red dots on her radar blinked out.

"Gunnery Chief," Corporal Tarel said over radio. "Reinforcements keep coming. We can't hold much longer."

The assault on Saren's lab had gone smoothly—maybe too smoothly. Karma was throwing every last geth in the galaxy at them to compensate.

"Then we'll make 'much longer' last a damn long time."

There was less risk in doubling back to the bomb site than in advancing to her position, and Kaidan's rank and biotics made him more valuable. _If Shepard does the right thing, we won't have to hold too long at all._

 

_Come on, pick up, she muttered. Only a few minutes before lights out, the haptic window remained blank._

_Three times her call went unanswered. The news was on the tip of her tongue, and the big "calling…" stretched across the window kept it there. She looked around at the empty bunks, glad for the privacy._

_Finally an image of the other end. "Sorry 'bout that," Dad said, scratching the back of his neck. "Bit of an emergency in the kitchen. What's up?"_

_"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, reporting for duty."_

_Not that special, someone might've said. But behind a closed door, Ashley could see the meaning of the promotion in Dad's eyes. What their family name lacked in prestige, it more than made for in the extra push-up beneath a DI's barking. In passing the final test in near-record times. In proving better than a CO's dismissive judgment._

_Dad raised his hand to his forehead in the most deliberate salute she'd ever seen. "Keep it up. You'll be a general in no time."_

 

_"Alenko, radio Joker. Tell him to meet us at the bomb site."_

_"But… aye, aye, Commander."_

Ashley gunned down a sniper before retreating into cover. Return fire grazed her shields. "You know Shepard's right."

_"I'm sorry, Ash,"_ Shepard said beneath the rockets and gunfire.

A juggernaut reached down and wrenched Vastim from his cover. Ashley joined her fire to half a dozen others. Only after it tossed him aside did it go down. Vastim landed against a wall, neck broken.

Several shots flew past her head. Ash's HUD pinged another death. "Don't be," she said, spraying into the geth lines. "I don't regret a thing. You shouldn't either. Just… think of me when you put a round in Saren's head."

 

_One moment her sister was standing right next to her. Then Mike threw his fist, and she became a blur. Like water, or air._ The black belt, _Ash thought for a moment, but whatever Sarah did left her ex-boyfriend a heap on the pavement._

_The silence lingered, marred with only mutterings from a gathered crowd of teenage spectators. Sarah didn't scream at him, didn't kick him while he was down. She just kept a steady, stoic gaze._

_A whimper became choked sobbing. Mike tried turning his face away from sight. Sarah's expression softened, and she knelt down and took his head in her arms._

_"I'm sorry," he said._

_Sarah's eyes flicked to the side for a moment. "I forgive you." She brought up her omni-tool around a bloody glove--not her blood--and called an ambulance._

 

For this call she didn't have to wait too long. _"Hey, Ash."_

"Sarah." She mentally thanked Shepard for taking out their communications jamming. "How's it going?"

_"Same old, same old. Waiting on the boyfriend to show up for--"_

The explosion of a rocket hurled debris at her side. Ash spotted the rocket trooper in the geth back lines and picked it off right in the flashlight.

_"Ash,"_ Sarah said, _"what was that?"_

"Sorry. A little busy. Same old, same old."

_"You're calling me in the middle of a--oh, no. Ash, you're okay, right?"_

_Nothing gets past you._ "Yeah. Right now. Shields up, rifle still shoots. But there's a lot of geth." A salarian death on her HUD and a scream in her ears. "Listen, Sarah. I don't have a lot of time. Just..."

_"Don't say that. You've taken on geth before."_

Ashley threw a grenade into a cluster of approaching reinforcements. "I wanted to give you some last piece of advice, but there's nothing I can say you don't already know."

_"No, Ash, you'll be fine. You can call me later, and we can talk about—"_

A burst of smoke in the corner of her eye. Ashley dove out of the rocket's path and scrambled for cover. She poked her head out and fired into the enemy line. Most of her shots hit their hexagonal shields. A few geth went down. To her side, rapid fire cut down two more salarians.

_Really wish we could._ "Hey, Sarah. Sorry 'bout that. You still there?"

_"Yeah."_

"Take care of Mom. And Abby and Lynn. 'Kay?"

A silence in the call while gunfire raged around the AA tower. Ash took down a few more shields and a few more geth waiting.

_"Yeah, promise,"_ Sarah said.

Ashley smiled. _Strong as ever._ "I'll say 'hi' to Dad for you."

_"Goodbye, Ash."_

She ended the call as Corporal Tarel fell. She was alone against only a handful of geth. Amusement and disappointment mingled: amusement that the geth had at last caught on to the plan, disappointment that she wasn't getting her epic last stand. Six white shock troopers made a slow approach with a spray of fire, but she'd seen this tactic before. Ashley took aim at the AA tower and nailed the sniper on the roof. _This still a good way to die?_ she might've asked Wrex.

If they didn't think she was important enough to fight—that old krogan insult steeped in whatever logic the geth used—Ashley Williams had her battered rifle and a grenade to prove them wrong.

She threw it. The blast incinerated one geth and threw its neighbors to the side. Two in sight. Two targets. A pull of the trigger took one down. Another for the second. The last three spread out and advanced, deploying hex shields as she fired. _Pick one_ , she thought. To her side was a corner they'd have to round to get to her. They couldn't surround her there.

Ashley made her choice and fired. Her rifle ripped through shields and armor. She sprung from cover, racing for that wall…

Then came a burst of lightning. Her HUD whined with her own shields' failure. Flared red as she lunged forward. One arm didn't break her fall as she wanted it to, and her left leg had gone limp as she put her back to the wall. She dropped her unusable rifle and unclipped her pistol from her belt.

One geth came into her line of sight. Three shots brought it down. _One left._

Hardsuit breaches, her HUD said, leg and shoulder. They felt more like dull aches than anything. Her body and her hardsuit had done her one more favor before the end, though she wouldn't have minded the pain. The certainty of the last seconds came as a strange, but welcome comfort that outdid any amount of painkillers or adrenaline.

For the first time in a long, long while, the only gunshots and explosions in her ears were distant rumbles. Soon enough—well, as soon as "soon" seemed to her—even those gave way to the roar of ship engines as the _Normandy_ tore into the sky.

_Think of me when you put a round in Saren's head._ They'd do fine without her. So would Sarah, and Abby and Lynn and Mom. Dad… she'd get to see him again very soon.

Whirs and footsteps. The last geth, missing an arm but not a weapon, rounded the corner.

There was no beep from her helmet, no click from her omni-tool. But somehow she knew that the clock had ticked down to 00.00 just then.

_Only a few minutes before lights out. "Keep it up. You'll be a general in no time."_

_A crying kid on the street. "I'm sorry." "I forgive you." The wail of an ambulance._

_This still a good way to die?_

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams didn't need to know if the geth's last slug killed her or if her last slug killed it. Because it and the others, Saren's base and his twisted work, all of it went with her in the blink of an eye.


	12. Urdnot Wrex - Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Virmire, Wrex's expectations are both attacked and met.

Pale clouds hung still and silent in Tuchanka's sky, but a thousand years ago the storms rumbled underneath. The roar of a thousand hordes boomed like thunder, their stomping the wind that scattered dust at their feet. Lightning struck every time the warlord at the center spoke. Their audiences ate every violent declaration.

Urdnot Wrex was old enough to fight but too young to understand the ugly truth of that comparison. He knew well enough to avoid those storms: too much hot air, too little action. Then the salarians pieced together a people's slow death. Then the turians unleashed it. The day Warlord Shiagur returned to Tuchanka, it seemed every krogan on the planet came to hear her answers.

He stood at the storm's edge, craning his head up at a ruined tower. The warlord looked more like a little dots halfway up its height, but through a makeshift sound system her voice reached his ears loud and clear.

"They think they've won," Shiagur said. "They think a little virus is enough to kill a warrior. To kill a horde of warriors, a culture of warriors, a nation of warriors. They're desperate."

The krogan erupted into a tremendous roar. An older Wrex might've seen the naivety in Shiagur's words. An older Wrex might've seen how those words were the only thing keeping the storm from devouring itself whole. That younger Wrex stayed silent, hoping that the "virus" was indeed just a virus—an infection that would pass, even if it took a century.

"Because they tried all their traditional weapons, but they realized too late that they can't fight us. Their so-called 'trump card' is a coward's way out. An insult. They think we're not worth fighting. Come with me to Canrum, and we'll show the turians how wrong they are. We'll show the galaxy that the krogan _live_."

Dozens of ships vanished into Tuchanka's clouds over the next days, like an inverse rain defying gravity, defying nature. Defying fate. The sound of their engines rose higher and higher until distance—and later, turian guns—snuffed their roars out.

 

A thousand years later, the _Normandy_ _'s_ engineering deck proved quieter. On one end, metal plates and large tires clicked and clanged as Garrus and his team worked on the scorched Mako. From the other end came salarian mutterings. Though quieter than the repair crew, Urdnot Wrex found himself glancing at them much more often.

The ammo block slid into place. Wrex reached for the next piece of his shotgun, lying right next to the abandoned computer on the workbench. _"You're on an Alliance ship. The armory officer maintains the weapons, including yours. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."_

A younger Wrex—younger by the tiniest fraction of a millenium—scoffed at her. _"Trust? You shouldn't talk. I've seen your attitude for longer than you can imagine."_ Even still, he set his gun down and walked away. The next mission, he found it in his locker, primed for use and free of tampering.

"Pardon."

Wrex glanced left at Captain Kirrahe, standing at attention a cautious meter away. "What?" he asked.

"I wanted to express my condolences for your fallen comrade. Chief Williams was an exemplary soldier, and a fine example of the heroism present in—"

"Yeah, yeah, she 'held the line.' Save it for the battlefield." Kirrahe's speech, if anything, created a small drizzle. Unlike Tuchanka, Virmire had the water for it.

"I understand your hostility. Destroying Saren's genophage cure was an unfortunate course of action, but necessary."

"'Unfortunate?' That's your way of sympathizing?" That was the half-hearted apology of a politician. The countless salarian generations between the Rebellions and the present allowed Kirrahe that distance. "You should run for office."

"I admit, when I first learned of the cure I thought it was another one of Saren's twisted works. But I'd never met a krogan concerned with more than bloodshed and savagery."

_"What about Tali?" "What about her?" "Just give her a chance."_ Shiagur's gift rested on the other end of the workbench. Tali had to look through its contents to make sure they weren't corrupted, but they sat, decrypted and ready to view, in Wrex's omni-tool.

"So you're saying?" Wrex asked.

"The genophage was deployed to solve my ancestors' problems. Perhaps my ancestors' problems aren't my generation's problems."

"Heh. You salarians talk a lot about logic. Your logic might be the best I've heard out of all of it."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

 

_"But this isn't over,"_ Shepard said over the intercom. _"The Council might think so, but they don't understand our enemy like we do."_

Out with the salarians, in with the lockdown, it seemed. Virmire had unnerved the politicians.

_"We're going to Ilos. And we're going to end this."_

A small click ended the address, leaving silence, not a storm, on the deck. The human crew's attempts at nervous chatter were mere breezes that died in moments. Wrex watched small groups of them vanish into the elevator until he had the cargo bay to himself.

He wouldn't get this opportunity again. Wrex opened the file on his omni-tool and hit "play."

A fuzzy image took up half the window. The krogan staring at him bore a deep green crest atop a pale, scarred face bordered by bits of ancient armor. _"Urdnot Tershan,"_ Warlord Shiagur said. Centuries of data decay had muddled her gravelly voice. _"I'm sending this to you because I face my last battle, and of all the great chiefs, I trust you to carry on after I'm dead."_

She assumed too much. Wrex made his promise to a shell of an old warrior trapped in a chair. _"A path to our future. A message, with maps, coordinates,"_ Urdnot Tershan said, wheezing with every breath. Urdnot Jerrod's shotgun saw to that, the first blow of many that led to that fateful Crush in the Hollows.

_"The days of the krogan hordes are over now. Not all of us realize that. Some in my own clan believe that Canrum will be the first of many. Perhaps wiping out the turian scouting parties emboldened them. Perhaps it's my doing."_ She let out a bitter chuckle. _"'The krogan live.'_

_"What we as a species need right now is unity. Uniting the clans requires more than words, however. There is an artifact on Tuchanka, in the exact center of Tekravug. The mother of all thresher maws guards that region, but if you can retrieve it, you'll have proven a strength beyond that of any living krogan. The clans will flock to the Urdnot banners."_

Even through the static, the madness of desperation crept into Shiagur's voice. _"Then… then you can march once more."_

A thousand years ago, those six words might have unleashed hell like no other upon the galaxy. But the genophage had scattered hell into little wisps across the galaxy, and the turian military left not even a pebble where Shiagur's tower stood. Wrex, just like his younger self at the gathering storm, narrowed his eyes.

_"I almost wish you were here on Canrum with me. Seeing the turian dropships land in the distance, seeing their fleet looming in orbit. Only what's left of my clan to stand against them. Imagine if we had the entirety of the krogan people here for last glorious—"_

The key press that cut her off wasn't an angry slam through a haptic window, just a small tap. A dead warlord's ramblings lacked Jerrod's shock and awe at the Hollows, but Wrex saw both betrayals coming regardless. A warlord of the Rebellions was the last place to look for sense.

His grandfather knew that—had to know that, or else he wouldn't have told him about the message. Wrex opened the important files: maps of the Tekravug continent, the supposed location of the relic marked with Shiagur's sigil. He looked at them only for a second before closing them, too. The glory days of the hordes were long gone, and no amount of Jerrod's insanity or Shiagur's relics could bring them back.

_"Thought the krogan weren't worth the effort,"_ a comrade had said. _"I bet it's more than that."_

The krogan past wasn't worth the effort. But the present and the future… _You better make sure we end this, Shepard. I didn't let you destroy Saren's cure so the Reapers could wipe us all out._

The geth numbered a great deal more than the turians at Canrum. Ashley Williams died like a krogan, and she deserved to have every last one of them slaughtered.


	13. Jeff Moreau - Step Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Normandy locked down, someone has to help its commander get back on his feet.

_"As directed by Ambassador Donnel Udina, the Normandy is placed under lockdown. All drive core, navigation, and combat systems are offline until further notice."_

It took willpower and lip strength for Joker not to spit out his coffee, the perfect balance of caution and speed to make the walk from the mess to the cockpit. "Do you have any idea what's going on?" he heard Ensign Grenado ask over the buzz of nervous chatter.

"None," Pressly said. "Hopefully the commander will explain. I thought the Council was assembling a fleet."

_Maybe they don't want us in it._

At the very least, the lockdown broke the silence. "One step closer," the crew would say over dinner after Feros and Noveria. Saren had lost a base and a battalion on Virmire, a bigger victory than perhaps both of those, but only silence filled the last few days. Ashley's absence became all the more apparent.

Now red messages on his flight instruments stared back at him from every open window. The VI didn't lie, but seeing gave him the certainty an artificial voice couldn't.

Joker placed his crutches into their usual spot and slipped into his seat, now with as much use as the one in the mess. There were more than a few reasons a politician could use to keep Shepard on the Citadel. Ignore the context of Noveria and Virmire, twist a word or twenty about Feros, and a politician could make dozens more.

Still, he agreed with Pressly. When the VI pinged the airlock opening and the inner door parted a few minutes later, Joker looked over his shoulder maybe too eagerly.

"Joker, open the intercom." Voice low, Shepard rounded the corner into the cockpit. The bridge went silent. The deck sounded each of the commander's footsteps.

Joker muttered an "aye-aye." His hand flew to the controls with the speed of "he could shoot me if I'm too slow."

Ambassador Udina and the Council had turned on them, Shepard announced. The fleet was intended to protect the Citadel from a geth assault, not to pursue Saren to Ilos. And the _Normandy_ … "You're becoming more trouble than you're worth" is what Udina said.

"We stopped Saren from gaining two armies, eliminated his top people, and destroyed his main base. But this isn't over. The Council might think so, but they don't understand our enemy like we do. We're going to Ilos. And we're going to end this."

Shepard backed away and took a deep breath, gaze boring into the deck. Everyone heard the conviction in his voice, but Joker saw an exhaustion in his eyes. A dozen witty things to say cropped up. Leaving them unvoiced—Shepard didn't need them—left the silence of a grounded ship for those few moments.

At last Shepard turned on his heels. "Carry on."

Joker, frowning, watched him stride down to the CIC. This was one of a few times he wanted to be better at people. Hell, when it came to Shepard he wanted quite a few things. _Regs and leagues, Joker._ Regs, leagues, and a perfectly good friendship with a perfectly good friend.

He looked at his locked down station, then back towards the aft. Joker stood, grabbed his crutches, and made for the crew deck.

 

Half an hour later, there was a silly relief that the door to the captain's quarters opened. Shepard, sitting by his console in the back of the darkened room, glanced at him.

One step inside brought one small awkward pang in his chest. "This a bad time?"

"Just weighing our options on getting to Ilos. All of them are very illegal."

"Breaking a Council-approved lockdown won't look good at a court-martial. But," Joker looked over his shoulder. "I can go if you want."

"You don't have to."

Joker hit the close button, then stepped forward. The cold plastic case in his hand hit a table with a thud that took Shepard's gaze off his screen. With some effort, Joker undid the latches and pulled out the bottle inside.

Shepard raised an eyebrow at the Armali Flame. "Is this a date?"

Joker froze. _Well, he doesn't sound repulsed by the idea._ "Just thought idiot bureaucrats would drive anyone to drink. You want?"

Shepard stared in his direction for a few moments before coming over to the table. "Yeah. Sure. How'd you smuggle this onto the ship?"

 _I learned from the best._ Chakwas had her special reserves tucked away somewhere in the med bay, Joker remembered while pouring two shots. "Can't sneak into a mercenary base and assassinate the head honcho, but I make up for it with other skills in the clandestine."

He flicked a filled glass across the table. Shepard caught and downed the shot in one smooth motion. "You'd probably make a pretty good smuggler."

"Maybe, but I'd be flying around in some junk heap. Military gets shinier toys. Plus I'd be a criminal." Considering what Shepard did to most criminals he came across, that didn't seem a healthy career move.

Shepard shrugged. "If we're going to Ilos, we'll have to go criminal anyways."

"Breaking the law to save the galaxy versus breaking the law for credits? I think we've got the moral high ground on our side."

"No denying that. It won't count for much if we don't stop Saren."

"You'll think of something."

"Trust me, I'm doing a hell of a lot of thinking."

"Did you try asking for help? I mean, we've got a few friends in high places."

"Hackett and Whitwell aren't even on the Citadel. Anderson…" He furrowed his brow and brought up his omni-tool, then dismissed it a few keystrokes later. "There."

Joker had become accustomed to the rush to a med bay or a hospital, to the sudden check-ins from Chakwas or some other doctor. Asking for assistance was routine, a far cry from the skinny teenager who wanted to do everything himself. Meanwhile, outside help seemed like the last thing on Shepard's mind.

 _Not the best comparison,_ Joker thought. N7s and Spectres were chosen for their independence—the go-getter kind, not the kicking and screaming one. Joker poured himself another shot. "You all right?"

"Yeah." Shepard took the bottle, tired eyes on the table.

"Bullshit."

Shepard stared at him. Given how fast that came out of his mouth, Joker would've been staring at himself, too. _Good job, me._ "Right," Joker said, averting his gaze and downing his shot. "Uh, that was blunt."

"That was right," Shepard said with a sigh. "I'm just… frustrated."

"We take out Saren's base and the Council rewards us with a grounding? Everyone's more than a little frustrated."

"It's more than that. We're so close to stopping the Reapers. We have a destination, but we can't get there. Because of politics." He leaned back. "Ash didn't die for this."

"Didn't you tell the whole crew that this isn't over?"

"I did."

"Right now you sound like it is." Joker leaned forward. "Hey, like I said before, everyone on this ship's behind you. Hundred percent. We'll stop Saren and save the galaxy. Council included, even if they're kicking and screaming the whole way through."

A small smile came to Shepard's face, out of amusement or appreciation Joker couldn't tell. Either way worked. "Thanks."

"I'm not very good at the 'encouraging friend' deal, I know."

"No, I… probably needed to hear that from you."

As opposed to anyone else? _You're reading into it_ , the inner voice of reason said. _Stop._ Joker grabbed the bottle and poured two shots. "One more?"

"One more."

This was nice, Joker decided. Funny how Shepard once seemed so unlikely—a hero from the vids who couldn't exist in the reality. Now Joker was doing shots of the guy's favorite drink in the captain's cabin after what passed for a friendly pep talk.

Joker raised his glass. "To one hell of a marine."

"To Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams."

The taste of Armali Flame struck and passed. Joker sat in silence, savoring the calm before the storm. Shepard's omni-tool reappeared. His eyebrows rose when he looked at the message in the window. "It's Anderson. He wants to meet with me."

"What are you doing here, then?"

This time, when he watched him leave, there was a hint of new energy in Shepard's eyes and his step, enough to leave Joker staring at the closed door. Several moments passed before he blinked the stupid smile off his face and turned to clear the table. _Damn, you have it bad._


	14. Saren Arterius - Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more delusions, no more doubt. To save galactic civilization, Saren will wage all-out war against it.

"Do it."

The pistol fell from the turian's trembling arm, and that, too, went limp on the floor. A crash against the wall had left his fringe a broken ruin. Blue blood—either his own or another's—drowned his white tattoos. Lying gut-down amidst burning debris, the C-Sec officer looked up. "Please," he said, before coughing blood on the floor.

_So it's come to war._ Saren Arterius aimed his rifle.

His thoughts replied with a dark resonance and ponderous weight. _A few deaths at the Citadel or trillions across the galaxy?_

He pulled the trigger. The officer's broken body jolted at the slug's impact, then fell still.

A geth unit waited behind him. "Launch a full offensive on C-Sec," Saren said. "Break open every prison. Assault every facility and posting. Leave them no chance at a counterattack."

It made no acknowledgment of his order, but Saren knew that somewhere on the Citadel, a whole mass of geth was already en route. Mercenary gangs did not coordinate through a network at the speed of light. Crime bosses thought only for the year's profits, not for millenia of evolution and extinction. C-Sec could not respond to this attack. _Leave nothing to chance._

Saren made for the elevator. Behind him, geth dropped both living and dead on Reaper spikes in the silent shadow of the Conduit. It would not stay so forever. No matter how many geth Saren left behind on Ilos, Shepard would come charging through, gripped in his own delusions.

 

Sovereign had shattered his long ago.

The gas giant in the corner of the viewports swirled with uncountable shades of green. Traveling so close to the Perseus Veil posed obvious risks, but the human doctor and his batarian associate, despite their cowardice, were willing to brave them. Saren hoped the artifact they found was worth the while.

Their excuse for research data rambled about a "find of the millenium" that promised to "change the face of the galaxy." But past Edan Had'dah's political hyperbole were phrases like "evidence of a dormant AI" and "predates the Protheans by millions of years." The Citadel had outlawed artificial intelligence after the geth uprising, but they had also given the humans a place of privilege in their company. Saren found the idea of an AI weapon— dangerous no matter the design—more appealing than he thought.

Saren looked outside as an impossible, gargantuan vessel drew into view. Sleek curves outlined an organic shape that started with a sharp point at the bow and ended with six appendages at the aft. That black hulk, Saren somehow knew, was the key to the humans' humiliation. To vengeance for Desolas. Now it was his.

A freighter attached to its underside marked an entrance. Beyond it, his first glance at the hulk's interior was a darkened corridor with angled walls and the indescribable feeling that someone was somehow watching him. Each hallway looked the same, with no engine room, no command deck, no trappings of an ordinary vessel in sight. All the while the only sound he heard was his own breathing, too loud in the ghost ship.

He was wrong, of course. He had long lost track of time when the ship roared to life and lines on the floor, walls, and ceiling flickered blue.

Then it spoke. _"Saren Arterius."_

Saren looked back and forth, ahead and behind. The voice came from every direction, a metallic rumble that sent vibrations through the floor and through his own head. "Who are you? The AI?"

_"You fumble in the dark, grasping for power beyond your comprehension. I am perfection. I am the vanguard of your destruction."_

The destruction of the Protheans as well, as he learned in the next week. Sovereign had shown him: all organic civilizations were decorations, impressive but meaningless, replaceable parts on a millenia-old machine.

Those new facts required new strategies, new ways of thinking. If organics were parts, then to save them Saren had to see them—himself included—as parts, just as the Reapers did. Valuable parts that could be maintained instead of destroyed.

Individualism meant death. Submission to the greater power meant survival. Submission over extinction.

That was his mantra when the first husks lifted themselves off their spikes and stared at him with their blank, mutated eyes. They were the army Desolas sought to raise for the glory of the turian species, the army Desolas killed himself _trying_ to raise, now Saren's to command. That was his mantra on Eden Prime, when the human colony, buildings and corpses, burned all around him. Another Saren might have reveled in the carnage, in the beginning of the humans' downfall. Another Saren might have dedicated conquest after conquest to his brother's memory, believing himself finishing what Desolas started on Shangxi. But Saren set his satisfaction aside and approached the Prothean beacon.

The key to the Reapers' return lay within. Not vengeance, and not glory. Neither mattered in the god-machines' shadows.

 

_Submission over extinction_ , his thoughts echoed as his fingers raced over the orange interface sprawled out in front of him. Fire crackled and consumed all around, underlaid with the clicking of his geth guards and punctuated with the tremors of Sovereign's movements.

A vast array of systems and data stretched across the Citadel's master control console. All of it needed to be placed under Sovereign's control. Linking two enormous entities seemed an impossible task, but Saren found himself working with mechanical speed and precision. The implants, he knew.

Images of past cycles flashed in his mind: the Citadel awash in the blue of element zero as the Reapers flooded into the nebula by the thousands, the greatest organic fleets torn to pieces, the leaders of galactic civilization reduced to ash. _Not this time._

Gunfire from behind. Saren whirled around as slugs shredded the last of his geth and six figures ascended the stairs to the Council seat.

"Shepard," he said, staring at their black-armored leader. "You're on time." With a thought his hover platform raised him into the air. He took his pistol off his belt. "The Reapers will return in a matter of minutes."

The human aimed his own weapon. "Stand aside."

"You are tenacious, Shepard, but that amounts to nothing next to the Reapers. Nothing you can do will stop them."

"I said 'stand aside.' Or am I talking to Sovereign?"

_I still have my mind._ Before the implants, Saren performed mental ritual after mental ritual, everything he could to ensure that his mind was his own. Only a flash of that old paranoia sparked at Shepard's words. "I have no more doubts. Sovereign has given me a clarity of purpose in both mind— _my_ mind—and body. After Virmire, Sovereign saw fit to upgrade me."

"Upgrade? You let Sovereign implant you?"

"I proved my value to Sovereign, and was rewarded, not destroyed, for it. I proved that the Reapers need organics and saved countless lives—lives that you would rather see dead. Now I'm the avatar of the Reaper's new order: the alliance of synthetic and organic."

"You're a slave. Don't try to justify it."

"You refuse to understand—"

"Then make me understand. If Sovereign doesn't control you, then let me access that console. I can stop it from bringing the Reapers back."

"The invasion _will_ happen. You can delay them, but their patience is limitless."

"Then give the galaxy a chance to prepare for them. The Protheans were caught off-guard, but we won't be."

How much time would stopping Sovereign buy? Years? Decades? Would a century be enough? _The Citadel ushering the Reapers in. The greatest fleets torn to pieces. The leaders of civilization reduced to ash_. _Nothing could stand against them_ , his thoughts said unbidden. Organics were nothing next to them, fleeting and weak. The Reapers were absolute.

But were they truly? A new Spectre once believed the same of the Citadel and the Hierarchy. Submission over extinction, but he himself deemed organics too emotional to accept it. _No_. They had to see the Reapers first, all of them, each as powerful as Sovereign. That would show them the futility of resistance. But Saren glanced over his shoulder at the battle outside, then at Shepard.

"Very well. Perhaps there is still a chance—"

_No, there is not_. _Shepard is delusional._ He tried moving his hover platform away, but instead his hand aimed his pistol. _Organics are parts. Fleeting. Weak. Replaceable._ Pain spiked throughout his body with every echoing thought in his head. _Submission is preferable to extinction. Submission means survival._ Not his thoughts, he realized. His gut twisted and burned. "S-Sovereign—the implants…"

_Kill him_ , Sovereign willed, and his body spasmed trying to respond. But Shepard, whom Saren once believed foolish and arrogant, was right in the end.

Shepard emerged from cover. "We both know you can still end this."

_Kill him. Shepard is delusional. Fleeting. Weak. Submission means survival._ With every ounce of will, he forced his weapon up and back.

_The greatest fleets torn to pieces. The leaders of civilization reduced to ash_. Metal pressed against the side of his head.

_Fleeting, weak, replaceable._ "Goodbye, Shepard." _Submission means survival._ "Thank you."

_Submission over extinction._ But perhaps not this time. Perhaps there was still a chance.

One last impulse through his nerves, one last contraction of the muscles in his finger. Neither belonged to the Reapers. Saren Arterius pulled the trigger.


	15. Garrus Vakarian - Fade Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel is still reeling after Sovereign’s assault, but Garrus has unfinished business.

The rippling mass crowded the docking platform, surrounding a passenger ship too small to carry it all. Voices rose above the collective chatter here and there. "Let us on." "I have family" on whatever planet. "I paid double the last price." The ship's volus owner, meanwhile, stood at the top of the boarding ramp, admitting passengers one at a time like it was business as usual. The scene had all the makings of a riot. That was why a whole merc squad stood between the crowd and the ship. For now, the rifles in their hands—standard make but effective enough—kept a respectful gap.

Two C-Sec officers stood at Garrus Vakarian's sides. One turian and one human, neither rookies. Three more watched from the other side of the platform. Whoever was in charge of this district had learned from the last time Pal Voren's transport ship came along. _But this crowd was less desperate the last time, too._

His visor's reticle honed in on a green-skinned salarian, then another. The suspect could have changed his appearance. He had to, if he slipped by all of C-Sec's security at the spaceport. Or was C-Sec still too disorganized a month after Saren's attack? _He might've had help._ And if Garrus's suspicion on who it came from was correct, he'd be dealing with it soon enough.

 _But first…_ Garrus narrowed his eyes at a hooded salarian moving towards the ship's boarding ramp.

He shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring angry remarks, and grabbed the salarian by the collar. The face of Dr. Saleon stared back at him, eyes wide.

The crowd parted as Garrus dragged him out. "Your cell's missed you."

The salarian pressed his lips together, but only after a few seconds did they break open. "No no I'm not him. I'm not Doctor Saleon, I'm just a—"

 _A decoy._ This salarian's voice sounded higher-pitched, too. To be sure Garrus brought up his omni-tool's scanners and waved it over the salarian's face. The results showed traces of chemicals used in salarian facial reconstruction. _Damn._

In his peripheral view one of the green salarians backed out of the crowd. Garrus threw the decoy aside and snatched his pistol. "Freeze."

The salarian stopped dead in his tracks and threw up his hands when the barrel pointed at him. "Please." Doctor Saleon's voice came out of his mouth. "Don't put me back in there. There are geth. _Geth_. Geth _everywhere_. I swear they're there please don't put me back in my cell."

Around him the shouting and chatter had stopped.

"On your knees," Garrus said. "Keep your hands up."

The doctor who once tried to stab Commander Shepard complied. When Saren's geth raided C-Sec facilities all over the Citadel, most of the prisoners were freed. Some started new crime sprees, some disappeared. Saleon tried to put himself into the latter category, but all that was left was the blubbering mess Garrus was putting in handcuffs. _After all your experiments, I thought you could handle more violence._

A C-Sec shuttle waited nearby. The decoy—another officer had dealt with him—was already inside. Garrus dragged a squirming Saleon towards it, nodding at the pair of officers as he passed. "Keep up the good work."

 

"I'm surprised," Chellick said, leaning back in his chair. "Thought you'd shoot him on sight when you found him."

"I… learned a few things from serving with Commander Shepard."

"Shepard? The Spectre who publicly killed someone in a nightclub?"

"I'm not a Spectre, am I?"

"Fair enough."

Chellick's office was larger than its predecessor and on a higher floor of the C-Sec Academy. The former detective tugged at the folds in his new uniform and sneaked glances at the badges on his chest. New messages popped up on a haptic window every so often, until Chellick decided to close it with a small grunt.

"So," Garrus asked. "Vice-Executor Chellick."

"I bet Pallin was grinding his teeth when he signed that promotion. I would be, too, if I were in his position. Thankfully I'm not. Being his second-in-command is bad enough already."

"Not enough investigating, too much playing with politicians?"

"Far too much. Some of them think they can undermine Pallin by getting in good with me. They don't understand that it doesn't work that way." Chellick put a hand to his keyboard. A window appeared. "But enough of me whining. This Tovar Bol investigation…"

"You heard from your contact?"

"I did. Bol's private vaults on the Citadel were smashed when the geth attacked. She couldn't find anything."

Garrus furrowed his brow. A dead end, unless… "Vaults on the Citadel? Does he have any somewhere else?"

"Volus homeworld, probably. But I don't see why he'd move other species' organs there if he planned on selling them."

"Terminus Systems? No, a member of Councilor Sparatus' inner circle wouldn't want too much to do with them. Unless he hid it really well…"

Chellick sighed. "And there's the problem with this investigation. Do you really want to mess around with him?"

"What?"

"You heard me. You know that Tovar Bol's one of Sparatus' top advisers. You know that he's been key to the Citadel's recovery after the attack. Yes, he's dealt in the black market organ trade, but you're missing the shades of gray."

"A corrupt politician has nothing gray about him."

"And even if you arrest him, he'll have the galaxy's top lawyers on his case. Maybe a word—even a pardon—from the Council. He won't stay in a cell for long."

"Once I find evidence—"

" _If_ you find evidence."

"The Council listened when Shepard exposed Saren."

Chellick scoffed. "That comparison speaks for itself."

Not long ago, Detective Chellick was tip-toeing around the edges of the Citadel underworld, taking risks and putting people at risk to solve his cases. Garrus stared at him, dumbfounded. "I thought you were with me on this one."

"I was." Chellick laced his fingers together on his desk. "Then Pallin promoted me. I had to look up at the Council instead of down at criminals and thieves. I… learned a few things maybe I shouldn't have."

Garrus could've laid a trap for Bol, something to force his involvement with the organ trade out into the open. No higher-ups required until after the arrest. But on that barren rock on the edge of the Terminus Systems, Shepard sidestepped Saleon's stab and knocked him out with an omni-tool shock. _"Alenko, look around for a salarian hardsuit."_

So Garrus filled the forms in, shuttled to the Presidium, and stepped into Vice-Executor Chellick's office. He, if not Pallin, would've understood. But in the end Garrus had to do it his way.

He stood up. "All right. I see what you're saying." _Even though I don't agree with it._

"The Citadel has more messes than the organ trade. They could use your skills."

"I guess they could. Vice-Executor." A curt nod, and Garrus moved for the exit.

The door closed behind him when his omni-tool appeared with a message. _"Officer Vakarian,"_ Councilor Anderson said, _"This might seem like a strange call, but I'd like to speak with you. Come to my office any time today."_

 

Councilor Anderson's office sat high over the Presidium, glass walls giving a sweeping view of the lakes and catching soft beams of the artificial sun. Anderson himself leaned over in his chair, elbows on the desk and chin in hands as he stared at a datapad.

"Councilor?" Garrus asked.

Anderson looked up. "Officer Vakarian. Take a seat." When Garrus did, Anderson pushed himself off the desk. "What I'm about to tell you right now is classified Alliance intel, but you took down Saren and Sovereign. You deserve to know this. It's about Shepard."

The chill of foreboding crept up Garrus's spine. "Did something happen?"

Anderson pressed his lips together, returning his gaze to the datapad. "Earlier this week, the Alliance picked up this emergency transmission from the Terminus Systems."

With some hesitation, the Councilor hit a button on his computer. Static crackled. _"Mayday, mayday,"_ Joker's voice said. _"This is the SSV_ Normandy. _We're taking heavy damage from an unknown enemy. Come on, baby, hold together, hold together…"_

The silence that followed lingered for a long moment. Garrus stared at the computer screen, and only after a huge effort did he look back at Anderson.

"Search-and-rescue team found the distress beacon," Anderson said, "but the _Normandy_ was lost. Completely destroyed."

The shining prototype starship of the Alliance fleet, lost. The frigate that took him across the galaxy hunting for Saren, that dealt Sovereign the killing blow, lost. Garrus had served aboard more than a few ships in the turian military. Many didn't survive the years. But the _Normandy_ _…_ Garrus couldn't imagine its wreckage.

"What took it down?" he asked.

"We're not sure. The surviving crew reported directed energy weapons cutting through the ship's hull like butter. It sounds similar to the weaponry Sovereign used at the Citadel."

"So it was the Reapers? Or something connected to them."

"Possibly. After the Battle of the Citadel, they'd have the _Normandy_ at the top of their list."

 _Or the people aboard it._ "You said there were survivors. Who?"

"Most of the crew managed to escape to the planet below. Alenko, Moreau, Tali'Zorah, Doctor T'Soni. Shepard…" Anderson slid the datapad across the table with a sigh.

The commander's file was sprawled out across the window. Birthplace, date of birth, date of enlistment… _Status: Killed in Action._ Date of death. A blow to Garrus's gut, a blow to the galaxy's chances against the Reapers, was summarized in a few matter-of-fact numbers and words. _This isn't right. This isn't happening._

A long silence passed before Garrus could collect his words. "Councilor, I… permission to be dismissed?"

Anderson nodded.

The elevator ride to base level seemed to stretch on forever. Heroes died, Garrus knew, but that didn't make it any more right.

 


	16. Jeff Moreau - That Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years grappling with a ghost.

Emblazoned with the N7 symbol, the silvery metal reflected a cloudless sky.

When Joker shifted in his seat, the coffin blasted him with a stinging sunbeam, too. Commander Shepard was dead, but nature saw fit to give New York City a nice day. _Doesn't it rain for these things?_

Joker glanced at the podium by the coffin. Anderson stepped off the platform and joined Hackett while Admiral Whitwell took his place. She swept a measured gaze left to right. For a moment, her eyes seemed to fall right on him. Just like the last one, Joker didn't care to listen to her eulogy. They could've sent the _Normandy_ anywhere else, part of him wanted to believe. But the order said Terminus Systems, the Omega Nebula, wipe out the geth holdouts.

The other part of him, the part Joker deemed more reasonable, knew that the order didn't matter. What mattered was that he didn't move his fingers on the flight control fast enough, that he didn't think fast enough. And now his brain was making up for it by reconstructing every detail of that last voyage—a false second chance. A false "next time."

That next time, he didn't say "I can still save her."

He took Shepard's arm and stood up. He leaned on him on the walk to the escape pod before beam weapons could slice through the remnants of his ship. Each step took ages, but both of them got into the pod. Both of them landed on Alchera. And maybe while they waited for the Alliance to rescue them, they'd smile and toss jokes at each other to dull the loss of the _Normandy_. He could almost see Shepard, shaken but still breathing inside his black armor, huddled on the other side of the pod. " _So much for going down with the ship, huh?"_

But he did say "I can still save her." Shepard had to hoist him out of his chair while the _Normandy_ fell apart in flames around them. And Joker landed on Alchera staring at the empty other side.

A light breeze brushed his hair, naked without the old SR-1 cap. Grass crunched as he shifted his feet. And the empty coffin still held a clear blue reflection.

 _"Imaginations are dangerous,"_ he once told Shepard.

"… the _Munich_ was never the same…" Rear Admiral Whitwell droned on through a microphone, but Joker looked left at a soft cough. Into his vision pressed a line of dress blues with heads atop them, standing in uniform save for the one with a fist covering her mouth. Joker beat down the irritation. They'd been here this whole time, the reasonable half said. And there were no private moments to be intruded upon. Not like he deserved one, given how the last moment he got with Shepard went. How many in that crowd, he wondered, were right behind him, staring at the back of his head and making that exact conclusion?

 _Not very many_. The nice part of getting to sit was that he was too low to notice. Nothing new about that.

Whitwell stepped off the podium and traded places with Hackett. Announcements or closing words or whatever. Then finally, gloved hands surrounded the coffin and took it away, its reflection sliding with its movement. A bugle sounded in the distance.

 

That time, "unidentified vessel" was all Ensign Salvacruz needed to say. He accelerated the _Normandy_ to full speed, yelled at Pressly to prep for another jump. Then the stars became a blue blur beyond the forward viewport. Another time, he danced the _Normandy_ around the cruiser's beam weapon, faster than anything he'd managed at the Battle of the Citadel. A few close calls, maybe—close calls made things exciting, but in the end he got his ship out of range and jumped to FTL.

That next time, he was _better_. But the beam did hit, first the thrusters, then the hull—one, two, three merciless strikes that reduced the star of the Alliance fleet to little more than debris. _"I can still save her."_

"Joker?"

He blinked back to his half-eaten lunch on a white plate and the scarlet tablecloth beneath. Chakwas, in well-fitted dress blues, looked at him from across the table with a hint of a frown. "You've been rather quiet."

 _I'm perfectly fine._ Joker dropped his gaze. _Shepard's gone. I've moved on. I have my life to live. I'll survive. What about you?_ Many of Chakwas' patients over the years were dying slow deaths in her med bays. _Do you remember them all?_ Hell, there was barely a dent in the classic Chakwas composure. Joker didn't know if that pang in his chest was anger or jealousy or both. He took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and took a look at the shining New York skyscrapers out the window. "Nice to have this whole thing in here…" Joker mustered a weak smile. "Except Shepard's from Brooklyn, not Manhattan. Well, was."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I think Liara needs someone to talk to more than me. Cried her eyes out during the Council service." That one was even more of a whitewashing spectacle than the Alliance ceremony.

"But Liara isn't here. You are. You haven't been taking care of yourself, haven't you?"

Lanes of skycars criss-crossed between the old buildings and the new. The corner of the Empire State Building peeked out from behind the War Memorial Tower. "Do I need to trim my beard?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Okay, fine, my apartment needs some cleaning, too." _No, I'm not fine. Shepard's gone. My ship's gone. It was my fault. How the hell do I move on from that?_ He sighed. "'Grounded's' a stupid word for this. Sounds like I'm a kid being punished for breaking Mom's favorite vase or something. Well," he picked at his lunch, "I guess I did." He got it ripped to shreds and burnt to a crisp. That was probably even worse.

"And the new _Normandy_ -class frigates are an empty comfort, I know. You can replace a ship's model, even improve upon it, but you can't replace the _ship_." Chakwas glanced out the window. "Or the people who served aboard it."

"Pretty hard to find another Shepard, yeah."

"He was certainly unique," Chakwas said with a wistful chuckle. "Though I suspect you know more than I do."

 _That's an invitation. 'Remember them as they lived,' right?_ Liara had landed the killing blow on Matriarch Benezia, but she handled it better than Joker was doing here. "I remember asking Anderson if he found him in a vid."

"The whole voyage seems like a vid in retrospect. The _Normandy_ , voyaging across the galaxy with its commander at its helm…" Chakwas picked up her glass. "Shall we toast to that?"

Following suit took more effort than flying. The glass' crimson contents swayed with its motion. Armali Flame was a deliberate choice on Chakwas' part, but drinking Shepard's favorite without him left a cold weight in Joker's gut.

"To the first human Spectre, the Hero of Elysium and the Citadel," Chakwas said. "To one of the finest leaders, marksmen, hackers, and friends we've had the privilege of knowing."

Joker nodded. Picking up his glass was hard, but somehow saying the guy's first name wasn't. "To Victor Shepard."

 

That time he didn't miss his chance. The blue lights of the Orbital Club hovered overhead while several of the _Normandy_ 's crew danced on the floor. Tali and Garrus had found a corner of the space to themselves, while Kaidan, Liara, and Wrex took up a section of the bar. And Joker sat across from Shepard in a small booth to the side.

"I know they're throwing us under the rug," Shepard said, glass of Armali Flame in hand, "but at least the geth have a connection to the Reapers. Maybe we'll find something useful in the Terminus Systems. Communications, technology, clues…"

Joker downed his shot. "Y'know, worrying about work is pretty bad date conversation."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "This is a date now?"

He used that line before. _"Just thought idiot bureaucrats would drive anyone to drink. You want?"_ Joker had said in the captain's cabin.

That time he tossed "oh but regulations" and "he's out of my league" aside and said something that didn't cut that topic short. _"If you want,"_ or even just _"Hey screw the rules I like you."_ Instead he returned Shepard's grin. "I don't know, the whole crew watching our 'unresolved sexual tension' complicates things. How many reports to the brass are waiting there?"

A few weeks later, the _Normandy_ entered the Terminus Systems looking for geth. _"Unidentified vessel."_ And the beam cut through the hull.

Now, two years later, the small crowd of dancers were awash in sea green. Their moves had more sway and showiness to them—not like the happy-to-be-alive, "hooray we won" high that had taken over the crew after the battle. Joker watched from the same booth as before, sipping on a glass of water. Best to be sober for this, he'd decided. He had enough on the uncelebrated two year mark anyways. The toilet the day after stood testament.

Why they called them "death anniversaries" baffled him. Weren't anniversaries supposed to be _happy_ celebrations?

The corner of his eye caught a fringe in that corner. Not Garrus, just an asari getting really close to a salarian.

Garrus had dropped off the face of the galaxy—so much for his plans to return to C-Sec. So had Tali and Wrex, though Tali sent the occasional message from the ass-end of nowhere. "Tali'Zorah vas Neema," the last one read. _At least some of us are moving up._

At the bar, a woman and a huge bubble of personal space stood where Liara was. Pale and dark-haired, she looked around the place like she was looking for someone.

Liara had at least swung by his apartment before she, too, vanished. "You're the only one I could get in contact with," she said. "I'm going to Omega, in the Terminus Systems. It's about Shepard, but… but I can't say why."

"'Can't say why?' You sound like the Alliance brass."

"I know it sounds suspicious. I've just heard things. Rumors. If I don't return, or at least contact you, I… no. I'll contact you soon. Just… Goddess watch over you." She peeked behind him and forced a small smile. "And you should clean your apartment, all right?"

Two years later and the most relevant message in his inbox was not from her. _"I'd like to discuss a potential job offer with you."_ Cord-Hislop Aerospace was bigger and better than other companies, but two years ago the Alliance made him senior helmsman on their shiny co-developed prototype. Still a step down.

He wasn't Kaidan, who got himself a fancy new title and, last Joker heard, his own squad. Nor was he Chakwas, who landed a "respectable enough" posting on Mars. No, he was the one who sent in the resignation forms and spent his days either locked in his apartment or working freighter jobs. He was the one who, when the time and date in the message rolled around, stepped outside and headed to the damn Orbital Club.

The lone woman at the bar had that icy corporate look to her. But if Cord-Hislop knew who he was to send the offer, they had to know his face. Joker pitied the poor soul she was waiting for.

"Flight Lieutenant Moreau?"

He didn't jump in his seat at the guy's unheard approach. He instead gave him a once-over—tall, bulky, dark-skinned—and sipped his water. "I'm not Alliance anymore."

"Sorry. I'm ex-military, too, but old habits die hard." The man extended his hand with a small smile. "Name's Jacob Taylor. Glad you came."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, “All Angles” has come to an end. I’m currently working on the second part of this project (working title “Blindside”), so expect that to come…. well, Soon (TM).
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Four years ago, I made my first foray into the Mass Effect fandom with "Mass Mayhem," a response to a drabble challenge. Now I'm bringing the universe I developed there back to the beginning, rebooted and expanded upon. Thanks for reading!


End file.
